An Art

A calling from zietgeist;
when a flute versus beast
starts a power play.

My world becomes wet.
Amorous,
when I watch a moth in your fist.

A split moon peels off
the cuticle, for a mega show of the
cone, shedding cruciform sword.

The white tiger leaps with
precision, spilling the milk container.
It was moonlight.

The baked smile now gathers
the teeth for a final bite.
The diamonds now quiver like a fear.

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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