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,…
Tag: Love
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…
Memory is anathema
My remembering one. Memory is fragment and yet with you, with you it is a living anathema. There is no stone unturned in the mind of time. The sheer magnificence of you as you make your way down the street. A Moses parting the pedestrian average. Or the toss of your beautiful head which in…
Love is a very long story
Everywhere I travelled to I wrote postcards to the woman I loved. Now I am looking at photographs of her hands and trying to bring back what they felt like. It has been years since we have touched. I share music which is not unlike living in a house with no doors. I drive across…
thoughts on mother-loss
So here it is. I am nearly 50 years old. I lost my mother last year. All I want is to make her proud of me. To tell her I’m sick today. To tell her I love her. To hear my phone go nuts when she calls (her ringtone was Pretty Woman). If you’re waiting…
between desire and disaster 