kissing

Kissing is entirely a mystical thing, I can hear the ancients from their hairy backed plains howling through the portals which branches through my throat and ends were the tongue and lip meet. And I can imagine no sacrifice igniting more agony and euphoria than our touching cracked mouths to heal the fault line of the cosmos; its the way to know god and what slaves we are to her.

beast light

*

I wonder how much of me is beast and how much of me is good. Right now I understand what kind of wicked animal light is, spreading across everything it can and I am so electric with sin that my hands will turn to photons if you bring your fingertip near their outlines. If you touch me I will rupture into millions like the late sun on our river.

vocal chords

today one of my friends, while walking down the brisk streets of the city, said, Indian accents are like  little drums. I eavesdropped on the men crossing the street and agreed, Then I pondered if all of us have a miniature instrument sewn into our vocal chords; I'm sure I've heard a flute, and a violin come streaming through someone's teeth like a musician practicing with the window open.