A night

At the temperature nudity bore wings
through the teeth of cold, their bodies ruptured like milkweed pods.
The temple bell in the last prayer of the day
beguiled the crazy woman in a camphor-like dream. Ra pichai, the tramp howled.
The coal skin combusted the creases of her need.
He shifted under layers of dust from the freight car, tore the length of sleep
in the red carriages, trailed spiral trajectories
instead of the linear – a Ferris wheel. Her hub pulsed in belligerent energy,
unspooled into stars. From his chest to sternum
she speckled a galaxy  of lies and he lured a river into the mossy art on her skin. 
Step into the water, he said, mouth full
with thrashing fins of velli meenu. Her garment darkened thirstily the chalice
of silence by drowning his mouth of sounds.

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