Listening Unheard Voices

The leaning neck
of the moon, getting
intimate with
a tall pine.

Partheno-sculpting
a protégé, without touching
the essentials.

Somebody waits for your
footfalls. Somebody
loves you without telling.

Like sensory pits
of a viper. I smell
your heat.

The swaying hips
of downing night.
Sun was rising.

Satish Verma