Post Script

Just after sex,
You lie on your side
Retiring yourself.
The mop of hair is a little chaotic,
Which suits the talkative smile
That looks a little unhinged from here.
The air is full of sweat
And sour pickles.
You tap your toes to some unknown tune.
The discussion we have-
Are having-
Is sexual.
We discuss tongues in odd places
And censored fluids.
It’s sexual.
You giggle in your irritating way
While I think of witty reprisals.
It feels like an epistolary novel.
A conversation full of long monologues,
Disjointed in its edges; falling apart, if not for the wonderful prose.
Our replies are hidden within our letters;
They are simply expressions of repressed conversations
That weren’t allowed.
– Shakya
(The picture belongs to me, along with the rest of the post… :3 )

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s