SPELLBOUND

Death sits in wait 
in the empty valley 
of your sleeper cell. 

The confession of a guilt 
liberates the funeral 
of a martyr. 

Give me your breasts 
for a modular test. 
Don’t let the milk go waste. 

Your pearly teeth 
were biting negativity of the red 
chilli of dark sex 

before the sunrise 
in a kingdom of debris 
of long names.

Satish Verma