Musca Domestica

By Rishan Roy

I see myself in the pool of clouds

Vaporising under your breath,

Sitting beside, swimming around

The edges of cornea, 

I grip in scintillating waves,

A sermon akin, 

The shape of your pulsating neck,

I climb into the depth of wombs,

Worm up full bellies,

Feeding on scattered nerves,

Strewn about winding pathways,

Orbiting the sphere of your tongue;

Mel odies of a forgotten madman-

It keeps on till it mimicks a whistle,

In the night sky, your wrists,

Inundated with the warmth of respite,

Carve the axioms 

Of do-s and do-nots

Injecting my purple-blue veins with

Ombre of multicoloured shapes,

Under your shifting weight,

I find myself 

Ochre hair – washing down rhapsodies

Of autumnal spring,

The bare sun catches my eyes,

The more I untangle, 

With roots, I merge,

Tangled in the fading sun,

Stuck – forever captivated by

Pollen on my eggshell wings.

By Rishan Roy