Satish Verma

Like a butterfly pinned 
in a collage, fluttering. 
Death makes a deal. 

I was appalled 
standing on the edge 
watching the withering body. 

The lake drowns me. 
Seagulls were waiting 
for a renaissance. 

It is not even midsummer. 
The planting of the kiss 
remains incomplete. 

No sex was involved 
in baring midriff. 
Moon ignites the legs.