this, pinprick wetness,
the sky falling like knives into our back,
the pretending i’m not road-kill at parties,
the million little letters monsoon writes to my cheek.
tuesday, i saw a pair of lips that looked like they’d just been
kissed, and bit down on mine, and thought about how my hair
gives away under the water, you see: nothing wants to hang onto trouble.
Sonali is an eighteen year old studying economics and mathematics in Delhi.
Recent Comments