of smells and touches

Of smells and touches….


On a hay bed
She pretends to be asleep
As I breathe her breaths
In the dim of a lantern

On her back
What does it matter
They are not my fingers now


The cold bounces on an autorickshaw
As we stitch a night together
Between the warmth of her inner thighs

What does it matter
Those shivering palms are not mine


The asymmetry of a jungle
A sky falls in drops
To console a begging soul
She keeps a promise

What does it matter
Those geographies of Lakha remain extinct


In the adjacency of a room
I wait for papa to sleep
As she swathes my desires
With that irresistible smell of her’s

The room’s invisible
And what does it matter
Its my turn to sleep now…