now know how the pyro of honesty

burns like an ever-lit bomb

how a tryst of flesh under the umbrella

of a dislodged arm is merely a face

puddle-born in the bilge of your collarbone.

i spill everything in my languid gathering

of the instant convinced world.

i slouch and slumber on the couch

and what the ember remembers.

how held back the hand is tells me

who and how far— the curtains were

coded blue, true or false?

what they call love is lost when you

find it— she leaned her head on my shoulders

and i didn't mind it— that's it.

~ ajay

30/4/2022