Satish Verma

Put a candle under 
the rose bush. 
I am going to draw blood 
from the moon. 

See my body has become 
a boat and you are the sea. 
I am an opus Dei 
and you are my deity. 

We mist and we rain 
on our frailties. The drama 
unfolds, when we grieve 
for the butterflies. 

Who was taller than 
our sins? Like pixies 
falling from the skies.