Saturday, 1. March 2008
Confession At The Movies
In the flickering light of the
tinsel screen, your intent face,
Radhika, is the knife that slices
through the sarcophagi of years
in which laughter was a cynical defense against liminal spring, and my mealy mouth gnashed its teeth against hard winter bones.
This is the reason why I angle my body over yours across seats, and place mouth against your throat, to ask how soon can I drown again?
My Poems
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