When the humid air overlaps 
your criss-cross rhythmic veins
I bear a vintage daze
The whites turn crepe blue
and the golden-brown soil freckles
in my charred neighbourhood 

You are a dream
in muddy croaking valleys
Untouched by the mortals 
I, a vignette hustling 
Surface tension violin
spanning through your arterial wound

I am here now, Virgo cathedral 
I am ringing like bells
Spring dandelions on monsoon tart
I am ringing, I am the echo of your borders
Their stiffness cracking in pearls
beneath my feverish scrape

© Aakriti Kuntal
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5 thoughts on “Concupiscence

  1. Breathless at the divine eye which cast this spell. You have conjured great secrets from sleep. I wrote a little about Jung’s ‘concupiscentia’ (my word). I must try to find it. Deep respect.

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