feeling as if I was you

snuggling close in softness and caresses
the skin tactile; cheek present, hair absent, wisps of strands
wisps of tongue slick and moist like dreams and poetic monologues; encased in sweetness and muscle; a vernacular
all your own; the tic toc of the nose that serves as a buffer, a white noise; trousers or jeans unzipped; fondled your masculinity a bit
ejaculation not present; satiated by pre-cum anima you take fingers  near the waist where bone and sinew made a lace; a fence, a tidy arc; to the circle of your caliphygian and the secret of your sex mounted by fibres; creased by tense feelings and some fantasies
your sleep is engendered by a sense of non-gender; you see yourself as both female and male cusping out hands and feet to different anatomy, non-monotony, bridging echoes and vibrations; from cock to soul to brain to mouth from spine to toes to marrow to fingerprints; you are edible composure so you are wrapped in your own tissues and arms and permeable blankets and subconscious — when you awaken you’ll smile but I will softly sigh; envious at your absent envy for you may not know that tip; but then you look at my lips and eyes as though we are feeling coccooned like thyamines, cytosins, adenines and guanines — solely accomplished yet bilaterally executed.▬

rhythm palate

sometimes I wonder what ratios offer
or words I am writing right now on the screen
like organs systematically and unsystematically coil
and unfurl like mouths kissing on an elevator
the real kiss; he flutters softly as though he can’t stop
but like a hummingbird she sucks his nectar
and like a flower her dances along
the nectar dots and my feathers like a DNA swap
have you ever felt attached by the hip, attached by the rib
two zones cusped like a bicuspid
laboratory schematics can’t explain this
after the first tap on the window
he looks and sees herculean feats by her
and he is impressed
who wouldn’t be
some cycles in time like cycles on the sand
pebbles can feel like someone’s skin
polished or ragged; have you not hurt and heal
his pectorals and thorax, his chest, his nipples
God, he is perfect — like some moon on a sashay night
with accentuated curves he waltzes like a ballerine
lollipops and cabbages and soon they hit
like foam on rocks; but there are recedes
and pullings; like gravity on your legs
and the socks we pull of off our loved ones
erotically, lovingly,
the mattress like soft sand near the foam of love
veinlets and eyelets orbed tongues
coloured silvery cherry apple; green flashing on brown and green
hugging like hummingbirds into closures of flowers
air and earth water in between; fire too
iron and wood, xylem retinas
budding mouths that mean I love you
with nectar and dots, pythagorus only covered half the arc
jettisoned letters into a cycle of love.▬


what can I give to you
that I already have not offered,
or given, someone else?
You say Virginity
I start to blush
you draw closer
I laugh
and you revert
I say what is a Hymen and some blood?
you look perturbed;
I say what about your Hymen?
you cringe and say you don’t have one
I look at you and laugh
you get mad
I don’t care
I talk equal exchange
like a fair trade
or, like the evil stock market
I say you gotta buy shares to earn them back
but even then it’s never quite certain if you do get back
because that’s the way the ball — oh hymen, bounces
also if by trade or barter should I not get a Virgin for a Virgin?
or rather something intimate for an intimate?
You get mad and tell me to stop my madness
and then I laugh, but you shake me
you tell me to not laugh at you how dare I
I unhinge the lock — with the key I have inborn
and say look her macho
you want my Hymen broken for what purpose I don’t know
you probably say a lot of indirect things too but your goal
would be the same; you’d buy me things, you think my Hymen
is like a bag or a condom, something you can throw away right?
Then surely I must cut your balls off too or some layer of skin close
because they are what you don’t need
you stare at me, disturbed
I continue, I laughed for you, in a way I might not have for anyone
if you can’t read my laugh how can you read me down there
if a laugh escapes you then so will my erogenous, my clitoris
my breasts, my eyes, my tongue, my legs, my freckles, my moles
my rash on my upper left arm, the skin coloration near my right foot — you’d miss a cosmos because you were only concerned
on a meteorite that explode anyway and destroy you
you are a fool, a virgin fool who can probably make me come from between my legs but never me as a whole
you are not a lover, you are a virus who infects white blood cells
copies them (thus you’d copy my Hymen that which you claim you don’t have) and like the zombie viral you’ll just copy my personality
in blood and ejaculation; spreading out like a disease
I get up, you don’t move
I say you are completely devirginised
your Hymen has burst
you shout, what’s…what?
I say, your Hymen was your heart
and you punctured it and made it bleed
now there is no proof right?
That you are alive?
Funny, you have no womb
such a hollow chasm — how can I make love to you
when you have mutilated yourself by excluding
yourself from the 23 pairs?. ▬

scribbling on a coaster one evening

7% of battery life on my phone today
once upon a time of tic-tock Nokia days
my phone could lay unplugged for several days
whether I used it or not and ironically my smartphone is a multigrabber thus it consumes more
imitating the anatomy of work and diet and human body
of the now — smartphones are stressed out yo

the subways or trainlines or traffic meters are not bypassed here
like in street to street repertoire; but they lead elsewhere
what makes a first world, second world or third world and why are there only three when they are supposedly nine dimensions and polygons in between — math is pretty for instruction; bad for a reasonable account of things.

And logic is a patriarch using a sullen matriarch to beat money out of the pants of children with hallmark cards and Valentine restaurants; capis and commis drink water from the same cup, same tap but decide sitting together would be incest so leave the rest to be measured debates coordinated
and I the ballerina of biology sitting on a corner
trying to kiss the face of a BL anime guy because I have no date
and trying to miss the drunk flirt asking me what I am doing
I am not lonely because I don’t have a date, don’t have company
I am lonely because I am in a company, of bones
because some flesh eating bacteria from some world country
came and ate them clean
spared me for it got bored. ▬

Symphony no. Madness in E flat

there must be be stairs to madness
it is the accentuated ascent
lack of atmosphere, stratosphere, oxysphere
my ozone corrupted by industrial normalcy
pockmarked by the guilds of society
pinched and prodded by the prod of perverts
my chest, my ass —- they being a dick to my dick
when sex is a basket of ganga rolls cuckooing cream treats
oh wait that’s my brain on cum gear shift
because I ejaculated a dose of grey for your pleasure
the pinnacle of a dumb fuck

friends told me I pussyed out or cocked out
cop out hey we are deem unfit for some language barrier
fuck it you bastard haven’t you heard colloquial dialect
globalization my spanked ass on some BDSM joint
where you tell me I’m this or that but I am not
and soon we pickpocketed some guy I blowed on
just because he never smiled and that indifferent cock needed that
maybe sex is rabid because we miss pandemics
black plague, calling black plague — shall we do a Batman thing?
or like some Avengers assemble crap? — oh, wait let me
be politically correct — white plague you racists
no, jizz plague — limp bizkit had it right when they said
chocoloate starfish and hot dog flavoured water
what the fuck happened to them?
everyone gets famous and then gets famously bad
Don’t phunk with my heart? — we got hearts again
wasn’t that a 60’s bash or a woodstock thing?
Oh wait, think of movies with babes in saress
you want to see Rebecca as a modern psyche?
Go to the Kolkata cinema and ask for Debashish 320

Roy becomes Ray fuck he ain’t Ray Charles
both of them will keep your ass
I bet you never heard of Begum Rokeya or Victoria Ocampo
they both seriously feminist like handing it to the man
my dick should learn from them
Mayday Mayday Mayday there is no May day
you got April’s fools on the merry month of beautiful devices

I’m full because I am candied out
baked by idiocy
I’m translated as a difficulty depressed teen
oi bitches I am 20+ teen you little fucks
but you kept me mentally unkempt
like on begging, food stamps and communist jargons

you know this was an era of slogans and graffiti teeshirts
think back to the Baul and Socrates
making pots and folking out
rock on metal classics!

I rather go out wearing a bedsheet and say
“I crave for nothing because you guys taught me nothingness
is what should be craved.”