[Issue 9 / May 2014]

he is a contradiction born
of ink and wine and ballads read by candlelight
with long fingers smudged with graphite
and sepia pictures that tell of lies and miracles and regret.

furtive smirks that hold secrets
mar his demeanor, holding me captivated
and here it is: the beauty of wistfully
wanting what is not mine.

my skin against his looks
much like truffles and the white of the moon
aching, undeniably true things
put together, against better judgments.

and some things just make sense:
the press of his mouth in the hollow
of my shoulder blade, the quiet run
of his fingers in the relentless lull of inequitable fate.

the interlock of our hands
is a soothing hurt in the cave of my ribs
humming with the reassurance
that all endings are worth the wait.

*

Neeraja Raj is a student at National Institute of Design, Ahmedabad, India.

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