Poetries on my Body by Pragya Gogoi
My lover says
The bones breathing under my epidermis
Are made less of collagen and more of metaphors.
And how he finds the flesh cemented to my frame
Dyed with paint bottles of villanelles and sonnets,
Haikus and elegies,
Acrostics and epigrams.
I grow alliterations on my collarbones,
Plucking them to bedeck baked ballads
Cascading out of subtle fingers bleeding bright blue.
My lover says my tongue tastes of ballads,
Savouring elixirs of love and heartbreak
And honey dipped falsities
Keeping the chaos within me awake.
I ensconce sonnets under broken finger nails,
Wreathing tales of pulverized conceits,
Into 14 cherry blossoms,
Proferring them to my lover,
Wrapped in brown skin.
Blue yonder turns grey,
Clouds bawling in raindrops wet
Haikus on my braids.
My lover says my lips are studded with enjambments,
I query him what happens to hearts in love,
Do they scribble incessant poetry
Delineating frozen moments of intimacy?
Or paint them in pallid canvas
Blending hues of their own souls with theirs?
Do they smell of sugar and honey
And all things ambrosial?
Presumably they just embroider their dreams together
Enlacing apparels of a Happily ever after
Or do they eventually fall apart?
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