the appropriate place
on this exam
to
explain to you the way
that my heart
stuttered in my chest
and my words retreated
when you bent over my desk,
in response to my upraised hand.

Surprised,
I found that suddenly
the only questions I had left
had little to do with History
and

Everything

to do with the way
your ***
looked in your jeans.

You remind me
(twice daily)
of your existence
As you ride low on your
motorcycle
               Problem Child
Wild in our street
Exhaust clouded lungs
choking me (up)
Memories collect
in my wrecked collar bones
Little pools of oil,
where you used to park those
dead lips


                                Silence


has never been so deafening
I loved thy neighbor
but faith is no substitute
for fuel
I am broken down
My rusted engine heart
refuses to turn over
But yours, yours
seems to be running
fine

Sometimes we pretend to be dead
So that we can remain alive.

What delightful alchemy this
this metamorphosis of a dream
a condition like an apsiopesis
which assumes I will be back
I inhale the fragrance of this ink
and exhale it as wine
it gives a nice toast
to our love
soaring like a lammergeier
Well in the throes of passion,
it splinters into a flower
the omphalos of which
is a moment awake
beyond rest or relaxation
may we be together forever

_ Vijayalakshmi Harish
   24.11.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

A cigarette drips,
Between fingers and lip.
As the dark of December,

Hangs.

Look at you trying so hard to be tough
Look at me holding back laughter
Look at you having it rough
Now look at me have my happily ever after
Look at you trying to scare me
Look at me saying whatever
Look at you living unhappily
Now look at me surviving the bad weather
Look at you trying to break me down
Look at me laughing at you
Look at you and your nasty frown
Then look at me pray that you make it through

on desk
on floor
against the wall
it’s true
it’s true
I have a few
it is not here
or over there
my word!
my word
is everywhere…
I Seuss’d …It’s fun! :)
—————————————
I gave you my word.
Now yours.
Use it.
Warm your sentence
if you will.
And tho not glamorous
it could be.
Made up
with coloured eyes
blush cheeks
ruby red lips.
Yet know, my word is not made up.
My word, that tickles my fancy
not tangled in frilly misguide.
More passionate.
That of a tender shoulder
is honest real.
My word is utter natural
as most good words in life are.
And tho it told of no expectations
it is brimful of meaning.
Take my word.
It is for you.
Pop it deep within your glory box
and remember.
My word was as real a word as any true.
…and that is how our words ought be.