POINSETTIA

What was that inside you 
which was not ready to accept 
the compound folly of a man? 

What worry do I carry tonight 
to my bed? 
An intentional leap into the very 
fire of mind? 

A virgin garden battles with a storm 
It is ready to mince the words 
for a carnal smell of poinsettia, 
and I am going to lower the guard 
from wrinkled eyes. 

Like a thong around the neck 
to obtain the tongue. 
I turn towards the blood of game 
global erosion of love and waxen defeat!

Satish Verma