Some days when attachment turns
itself into defiance, I wonder how wild
it has been to choke on a wrong idea
of intimacy that reinvents itself
each night and refuses to perish.
to have bits of your skin stuck in
my nails that witness greed at my
hands. to paint your back with all hues
of longing I have spilled out of
my mouth like a stain that cannot be
washed clean, an appetite that
spreads bruises like forest fire-
but do not call it home.
this is my docility wrapped in lilac
scented trash bags that look intense
only from a distance, this is but
a filthy act of violence my teeth
love engraving on bodies like yours-
a soft crumpled mass of dalliance
that sees love and calls it paradise,
do not find security blankets
in hurricane hearts.
a wave of gentle desperation
that sweeps over you tonight
is not the light that wakes you up;
each second that announces its
tenderness, I rub it under these
honey dipped palms.
in this story, the goddess
doesn't like to confess her hunger.
mokshi
_selcouthsouls