I know 
how you may think that I have buried you
inside wispy cotton memories, 
                                          that I have forgotten,
that you are now wandering under white silk bedsheets,
breathless as the air, perforated and cold.
I know you may think that you are spaced 
          int ers tice s 
in my life,

that I wander into you when the plateaus s h a ke
But let me remind you
that you dear, are a rolling song of lavender, infused into my collarbone 
like a syndrome, that you are no memory, 
for memories attach to temporal lobes and sweat through temples.

You are no memory, you are a segment. And segments dance nevertheless.
Dance despite. Hum along. And ache together.

You are clove dew breaking into lumps in this thoracic leaf bowl of a body 
Your wafer smile like beans, beads and pebbles, 
dispersed along my calculated curves, inch over inch, palm by palm.

I am your vessel. As you are mine. Need I remind you that we were
born outside of matter? That we are shaped like acres of wheat field.

Like fixated points of darkness.
We only glow when we collide. Paint brushes, flooding each other.
Every time a breath leaves my fractured neck and 
enters yours. 
Every time my head hits a barren moment. 

And I find myself tossed across mouths of dead air. 
Floating right above your nose.
Your tissues cutting mine. Like scissors that sew and sing.
You on your violin. 
Parting the air, 
clots of dried days levitating like our shared destinies.
You with your fingers entrapping compounds and hair. 
And me beside you,
  smiling,       the ceiling in my chest and the walls through my arms, 
and you, weaving in me, 
         claiming your center.

Image and Poem © Aakriti Kuntal

6 thoughts on “Segment

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