Were very hot, trembling thighs like in frying pan, you sizzled looking around for ladders.
Then you crashed on the charged net like a mosquito, exploding in white flame tip, tip-top.
Pungent smoke rises of smoldering flesh. I was afraid of drums, the fierce sounds.
Your song has been left behind. Stolen piece. Love has become a terror asking for ransom. Living fossil. Taking it all, you didn't deserve the garbage. The string of wasted years.
Respected Editor Ji,Please convey my thoughts about Mr.Verma's poems which I have expressed under his poem "Chastity".I think,he hasn't read them yet due to his business.Thanks a lot.
