Bodyburn


Golden brown
molten
skin against mine,
moving quietly,
perfectly
in tune
to the jingle of me breathing.

What big eyes.
Openingclosingopeningclosing.
Such a distraction
in their bronze beauty.

I am reminded of autumn.
Of half broken leaves
and twigs.

His body
is a hand with no lines.

I wonder what mine looks like to him:
a porcelein doll;
a dexterously carved
wax statue
of a greek godess;
something akin the wicked
witch of the west?

His moans
sound like the sea on fire,
like fractured glass flying around
in smithereens.

A little
like a trumhet-ruffled night:
a bronze mouth whimpering
with the bronze certainty
of a man of experience.

I am silent as always:
the only sounds i make
i make
in my head.

Unaccustomed to indifference,
he asks if I’m alright.

I scream.
In ecstasy.



- posted by Mehreen Malik @ 7:35 AM