Clouds Were Collecting

Satish Verma

was moving without wheels. 

Not a match. I 
don't exist. Anonymous. 
You were also not same 
as I lost you. 

Black walls. 
You will kiss them 
for a promise. 

Your lips, wrapping 
the wounds, like bandages. 

The bruises smell 
like poppies. 

Not thirsty. Still 
I revert to the theme of 
dry lake. 

Are you going to 
shut the eyes of moon?