Streams of white skies
hoping to be saved
A wild thing praying- over and over.
There is no art if not love or there is no existence if not love.
But do you see this- this flinch in the sky
a maroon longing of a beetle.
There is nothing beyond the periphery of our emotion
Above the sea- salt loneliness.
Eyes- a lost trapezium.
Tip-toed walks. But they are walks only. So do it. Walk.
Squint. Moan. Throttle. Look above the concept of ' oneself'.
Where am i now?
Transparent nectars- juices.
Molars in water,
Face flaps and shivers
Putting my mouth again and again under water faucet.
What am i now?
A lotus in mud. A lotus upon my lover's eye.
I wake up abruptly here
Flabbergasted arms. No knowledge. Vague and cherished.
I am submerged here.
Opague and tattooed
But i want to sleep here opening my auburn toes into a myriad of tunes- juices again.
I hear a knock- lust and dreams.
No muscle. Weak. No tongue. Weak.
I have a slippery body but
But but nothing sits upon it.
How do i say this?
I am sitting here licking my nights and clavicle.
(Devika Mathur resides in India and is a published poet, writer, and editor. Her works have been published in The Alipore Post, Madras Courier, Modern Literature, Two Drops Of Ink, Dying Dahlia Review, Pif Magazine, Spillwords, Duane's Poetree, Piker Press, Mojave heart review, Whisper and the Roar amongst others. She writes for https://myvaliantsoulsblog.wordpress.com/ and recently published her book "Crimson Skins")