Satish Verma

On the blue veins
going to waking sleep.
It has its own city.

Like big cherry picks,
when your presence purred in my chest.

The bare fangs,
approach slowly.

It crumples your hormones
that was not a small dying.

The pulse runs fast,
even faster than light. Still
you wait in penumbra.

All that you did was
raising the eyebrows, to
ask, who were you.

No introspection was needed
to clean the color of smiles.