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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
life from the first sight evades sneakily ⁣
from the crook of my eyes and plants ⁣
itself in my mother's lap which is a soft ⁣
stratum muzzled with ripples of clemency ⁣
I was too delicate to know the reasons of ⁣

from there life looks a lot like incomplete⁣
greetings drooping from my father's ⁣
mouth- stale from gasping the distance ⁣
and softly landing on the crevices of my ⁣
forehead⁣

somebody takes my name for the ⁣
first time and it sounds like something ⁣
as material as a thunderstorm, that⁣
reincarnated itself just so it could ⁣
fit a pile of exasperation in my mouth ⁣

the next twenty years my skin becomes ⁣
a warrior breaking down a hundred ⁣
times in a field of bare throated ⁣
sacrifices made in the name of love. ⁣
I held it together with my blood slick ⁣
hands joint swiftly and assembling ⁣
it in a tomb that rips its own muscle ⁣
and bone apart⁣

I spent my mornings gazing whimsically ⁣
at my mother's lips syncing along the ⁣
recital of a hymn that untangles sacred ⁣
from scarred. that day I learnt, it only takes ⁣
one letter to distinguish riot from rot ⁣
and yet I decayed twice on the edge of both⁣

my father once said a body is a warzone⁣
in disguise and twenty years later I feel⁣
tangibly naked thinking about it ⁣

another one bygone and I make love ⁣
to metallic blades dangling from my ⁣
mother's scream. veins exuding streams ⁣
of promises that woke up a stony god⁣
and I'm demolishing it brick by brick⁣

i told everyone that breathlessness ⁣
doesn't equate to gasping for air in ⁣
your last minute, tenderness is not ⁣
another word for suffering and I am ⁣
scared but never afraid⁣

i die on a pyre of irrevocable remorse ⁣
gifted to my mother and suddenly, my ⁣
body becomes an alleyway freeing itself ⁣
from the entrapment of this ⁣
kaleidoscope life has been ⁣

I have only been dead an hour and ⁣
somebody comes to carve a god out of me.⁣

mokshi

— The End —