contemplation on time

i begin with so much force to get to you but only imagine a dark lack of atmosphere.  then i see your arms extended i see your coffee-soaked skin onto which i stick my tongue and drink you. when they appear i linger in a waltz and i'm certain that you break light like morning into me. vastness opens so brightly ahead and reflects back without difference or separation. a hesitation of skin is removed, i slip off sense and find with ease the objects of your childhood mind's anxious coagulations, drifting towards me as if all along. we make contact like two coasts merged by ceaseless growth; a union that swallows the sea, a point of boundlessness in my space from which we began and poured back into. if we meet again and my eyes fade off yours i won't be deterred  i will simply press up against your mind  and impose a migraine containing my amber-scented hair.

My desires are impossible to decipher. It presents an image, an almost comical image, an expression, imprint of the ways in which love lives in things. A gush of faucet water throws up  the thrill you send through me  in your awaited absence.  It is ridiculous that I cannot produce  my desire for you as coalescence  that can proclaim  language, art, history, and every justice in the world. Yet I find myself gently rising, like eyes touching the summit, to the conclusion—  I need you as reminder. I don’t need to imagine sweet childhood loneliness to describe love anymore.  Instead, I must find ways to retain you on my skin, because love is lost in the seines that cover me.  Never can I shake the habits that leave indeterminate  all the ways I will embrace you.  I know your sharp eyes have already made note, the ways in which I fail,  in which I paint the tapestry of desire,  with nothing but euphemism.  I will not repeat but I am toppled  by the ways you shift, a flame of notion, an imm

love is premeditated first, by history for years lovers have sat  in the pristineness of the grief following a fight and imagined.  the heart drags to the feet with a painful force the mouths curl into cruel words but limbs and heart are locked in passionate disbelief; now does his mouth have a distaste for me?  it seems impossible yet he could be spewing arguments of hate for me too. trapped by contradictions, lovers quarrel eternally each convinced by their historically exceptional agony.  imprints of their dissent are now  feathers of fables falling at leisure.  i say pitiful phrases to myself when we fight, and then it befalls me love is premeditated by me too.  always slightly hopeful that a voice will respond, i expect whispers of dejection to be sliced.  but response comes in a weep  so heavy it fills my lungs with emptiness  i can only imagine is borrowed, from tired nights of the past. a cloud of tears around my ears dripping through my hair you drenched me in despondence when

  A year has passed since the events of the movie Premalu .  (soumya's night vision) Reenu and Sachin are trying to work it long-distance; Amal Davis has left Hyderabad, and Niharika moved out to pursue travel blogging, but everyone’s been in touch. That’s neither been conscious nor demanding; skin and screen share the same space in Reenu’s heart, and days are spent tapping in and out of happenings, sliding careless brush strokes across keyboards, smiling at static eyes.  But today, things were off; her thoughts held a momentum that was hard to control. Like slipping into a white room, Reenu kept disappearing into her mind trying to lock onto something unthinkable. There was no memory of reading a children’s book.  There was no memory of even holding one. This is perhaps why her grip on the copy of Black Beauty felt uneasy like she had little faith in her own hands. The cityscape outside was an unfocused blur; she confronted a phantom childhood of her imagination, and it occurred