a want to want, be possible.

be touched so much so that

wherever touched welts rise

to become some more flesh

to be touched some more.

be a jacket in an arijit singh weather.

spin pearls from foreign spit in that

oyster set in the face. like dark matter

i am so much but nowhere yet

unable to touch anything that's matter

everything that matters.

music is the last stand of mystery for me

and poetry waits at its edge like a scavenger

to feast on whatever's left before it turns

into beacons for buzzards, stiff and sure

of its done-ness. a breath waves over me

and is called ribs. but i cannot make anything

out of my ribs because i know

the other is always as much as i am.

~ ajay

29/3/2022