After an erotic asphyxiation
on the dirty lips of a game,
I hear an immaculate rhyme
like a whore in a prayer.
A hazy patch descends on eyes.
Night slumbers
and day ends with a bang.
The guests arrives with a gusto
dreaming the end of a track.
Grief stands on a banished spot
My flesh, my soul
mourns in the background.
Fear of an organized orgy
ultimately breaks the heart.
Satish Verma