Satish Verma
Blemishes
Without assent
I open your book
to find your crazy god on mat.
Love was a blind bird
in a state of agony.
Learning to fly.
Moon would not reply
through aslant door.
Something was between us.
Here, now a sordid tale
breaks the taboo. They
were investing on skin.
It was a cheap wine
in a golden chalice,
for a lipless mouth.
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