Untitled

Tonight,

lying dry and tepid in interested arms,

I am thinking of your fingers on me.

Alchemy

Day-old pork curry

a deepening

No longer new and tart

love. Pang of distance cut

by the mellowing knowledge:

it exists, alchemy

We fit

Third date

Walking with this Nehru Jacket-clad gent

at whose remarks

I laugh a little too readily

I wonder in the pauses

What is it that binds two people?

No amount of theory will do

or literature

How is it that amid so much dissonance

you and I sync, if only

at a particular pitch

Maybe soon I’ll know

better his eccentricities

How he likes to be touched

and the noises he makes

He said ‘tender’ today

in such a way

I thought

I’d definitely like him saying

dirty things to me

That voice rasping

Time and attention

is that it?

Love?

As of now I’m still tearing up

thinking of your face

tucked into the crook of my neck when we sleep

Cover Image: Photo by Jackson David on Unsplash