these nights, the air is in a drunken stupor,
borrowing spirit from our wine, daring...

suddenly light,
and i think of your smile...

after the monsoons
puddle the red earth into clay...

dip your fingers in the blood-red skies like you...
with alta dye – tonight, i will study your hands...

And of all roots –
I’ve eschewed yours...

i write of you on borrowed ink,
dream of you on stolen sleep...

your tongue is the lands where
i harvest sugarcanes and dates...

sorrow is a bird taking to an etherized sky,
flapping its wings as hard as its little body...

i sing of you with a hushed breath,
careful to not let the words to your...

last night, i dreamt of your hands wrapped tightly
around my neck, wringing it like a hand-washed...

-
and there you were, delicately cupped between...

in the city of a thousand suns;
you swell the most at the seams...