Poem
We are two boys in our early twenties
who can read touch like that, who have broken into
a 200-year-old mansion, without permission,
to see from above where people like them go
after 377 has been read down only for those
who can stay behind closed doors — in the custody
of cheap hotels, or houses that welcome nights
with the sound of latches closing.
“Large will not fit you.” / She is scoping me, up and down, eyes / Flicking fast and darting away…“Try extra-large instead.”
“Large will not fit you.” / She is scoping me, up and down, eyes / Flicking fast and darting away / From the roundness of my breasts / To the happy jiggle of my thighs.
A kiss for the side of your neck One for the last of your back For a year that we…
From silver screens to pages penned,
Our identities explored, where journeys never end.
Desire is a man’s turf, right up there with moustaches and Adam’s apples / I’m the apple, I am the snake, I am Eve / I am the vibrator nestled between flimsy, cheap lace underwear / I am the shame, of saying I came
I would once again be theirs, in memory, on the day my lover would die.
What is something I do that makes you feel good?
when you lay your hands on the upper part of my back
where do you feel it – on your body – when i say i love you?
नींद की गलियों में क्यों कर छुप-छुपा कर
ख़्वाबों के मुलायम धागे बाँधती रहती है