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