Some nights I miss her so much my house shrinks. I know this the way a fist knows a shattering cheek. The way red knows her. I am punched sweet by love; my mouth full of blood and teeth. She is a half-bitten plum, a pear dripping nectar; a mouth reddened with beetroot, hibiscus petals,…
Category: Wordwhoring
My own writing. Some well-versed pieces of prose and then some not so, as well as random ramblings, intense insights, backward glances, and some very painful but important evocations.
Memory Hall: one golden year
My happiest memory goes back many years to a time when I was a child, carefree and still innocent of the ways of the world and what the future would have in store. For one blissful year of my childhood, I lived with my grandparents on a large dairy farm in India. Our ancient home…
Her blue heart
The blue heart. Magic. Run your fingers through the rivers of her hair and you are transported into an otherworldly dimension. Her voice, the ocean in the midst of a cyclonic storm at 1500 hours. Midnight in the day. Clearing. Restoring. Cleansing. When she whispers it is as if you have heard a kingfisher settle…
Each eyelash will meet its purpose upon your body
I will dive to the depths of you, the very bottom of the ocean of you. I will walk on the sea bed of your soul and sit there waiting for you to drown yourself in me. I cannot stop thinking of you so stunningly sunset kissed last evening. There must have been fingers of…
Thunder under my skin
In case you haven’t heard it recently or even in case you have, I want to tell you that you are the most beautiful woman I know. You have the kind of beauty that is indelible. I don’t forget. Time passes. Miles come in between; minutes hours and days. Then years. But your beauty, your…
Bring me to her
Since I have known your hands I forgot the shape of other things. But I remember tracing my fingers across your skin. Knuckle and bone, vein against fingerprint, the give of flesh and resistance of muscle. Our breathing joined in rise and fall. The pre-knowing tremble before new spaces fall like cities – to love….
To love like wolves
There’s a kind of missing that is not unlike a set of fingerprints. Unique. Inimitable. Yet identifiable, yet connecting the mystery to the answer. There is nobody else in this world who misses you like I do. I’m feeling brave. I’ll go further with this. There is no one else in the world who loves…
This is an exercise in lovemaking
This is an exercise in lovemaking. I will write you as many words as I possibly can in the time it takes from my mind to my tongue to my fingers to this page. I’m thinking of Nabokov tonight, fire of my loins. Tonight I was aflame. A gulmohar, I was kindling with salt sweat…
“Your hair is an act of God.”
Do you miss me, you ask. It’s not a real question but I’m going to answer carefully. I always talk about love. How it undoes me and puts me back together. No kintsugi. Just clumsy well intentioned repair. Clay and mud. Untidy. But whole. It will carry water again. It will be useful. That is…
between desire and disaster 