Not Any Acrimony Poem by Satish Verma
Not Any Acrimony
At dusk, I will smear
your lips to color the moons.
Acts like Midas touch.
The dunes tend to
shift from the shivering hands,
when the knuckles bend.
The scope expands.
You will walk on periphery.
I will tow the line.
Tuesday, November 20, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/7/2024 11:30:44 AM # 1.0.0.1119
