After the initial nights of touches are over,
I plump the pillows,
straighten the creases,
and retract to the solitude of my baits,
of the crescent moon in a coconut piece,
of a shrinking banana roasted to primordial smells,
…and wait…
I want you to visit me here,
in the dark underbelly of my trap,
burrowing to the otherness of my skin, my voice, my smell.
..and I yearn to party with wine and fish.
Hope licks me with its wagging tail
smooches and attempted cuddles,
and waits with shed dander,
on the doormat of my den.
Our bed smells of the freshness
of mosquito repellent,
that has achieved its goal.
Darling, what have you decided about the rats?
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at [email protected].
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