Satish Verma

A chalky midnight 
I wait for the sound of 
flapping winds. 

A celestial embrace 
with your duality. 
Are you wearing my shoes? 

The blood wears a coat 
of dreadlocks. I 
want to return to my soul. 

Will not touch you 
but always think about 
the dialect of contours. 

A death wish of a mountain 
flower was to shed the seeds 
in the lap of a dandelion.