Sudhanshu Chopra, Featured Writer, Poetry 2016

Imperfecto

I’m such a fatso, she said
You won’t be able to wrap around me
It doesn’t matter, he said
I will wear foam fingers then
or hug you in half
It can be um,
a funny mime, tree hugging,
glaze of barnacle
on the whale
or simply a brush of
shoulders;
Viscosity of eyes, elements around
forgotten

Ripples of fragrance will unravel me
I’m the thread I was
holding onto
from open fields of stench
that tear me
to the marrow
Now no more
the muffling blimp in sea of quagmire
as unclipped bun on your head rebounds,
sprinkles dust and shampoo
into my nose

The smudges of paint
from turning pages of the book
I told you to read
form on your nails maps of unknown nations l will visit
while crawling through reams of paper
at work
Continents dipped in puddles of your tears
for I don’t want to be drenched in the rain

How did you think, she asked
will all of this sound amusing
It will, he said
when I murmur it in your ear.

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