Saturday, March 21, 2015

everything tastes like monsoon

Your fingers stained with
Dark and henna-like masala
red and orange erupting
underneath your fingernails.
Your breath as soft as sari silk
Against my cheek
Your tongue tastes like sweet syrup
dripping off gulab jamun.
Your skin as smooth, silky as
A dish of kheer,
dotted with moles and marks
like spots of shining saffron.
Your eyelids, slivers of almonds,
shimmer like the raindrops
congregating into puddles.
Your neck is sloped like a gazelle,
and runs on like waterfalls
down into your breast.
Your hair blossoms like
a raincloud over the maiden,
and I disappear inside of it,
as I breathe in the glorious whole of
inhaling your scent,
which is spiced starlight and
mishti in a monsoon.
Your lips taste like kulfi,
melting, dribbling down my chin.
I lap it up greedily
I turn you, over and over again
In my mouth, whispering over my tongue,
like the mango lassi
that I soak my taste buds in
for a hot afternoon
in monsoon season.
You are sweeter than summer,
and all the vibrance of autumn
is in your eyes,
pouring out of your richly colored soul.

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