Bovinely
we sat in blue jumpers,
nylon stockings
to the thigh,
and Bata shoes
newly shined:
we smelled
like slate.
Do you love me?
She asked everyday
fingers fingers
intertwined
arms straight
bent, folded
like amma’s starched saris.
I love you, I love you
like my thumbs!
Lips thick
with disappointment
What does that mean?
Oh jaan, without thumbs
how will I weave ribbons
in your braids
or even tie
jasmine garlands
around your ankles?
Lips stretched,
hasna. Yes
your are my thumbs
gently sucking hers,
listening
to Asha Bhosle tunes
braids undone
sweat dotting brows, she
tasted like
sweet flat bread.
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