Counting Moonrises

now this anxious summer
will strain his eager face,
further and further,
until he touches the fresh wet lips
of the first monsoon cloud,
already, the parched earth
is giving way,
a wrinkled thirst inching towards
the suggestive shade of the big peepal,
every year a retelling,
a story that starts at the end,
but you must not count these days in swollen celsius,
you burn them slowly in the excruciating
hedonism of moonrises,
even a thin sliver like a chunk of ice
slipped into the long glass of liquid articulation,
songs hanging yellow, bloated,
on encumbered lines of passion,
the pink tabebuia breathless
in the still night,
sweat stains spreading 
under her soft chemise,
jasmine buds opening
like amorous dilettantes,
seducing the dark with hot fragrance,
stars lingering on treetops,
glittering detritus of a different rain,
the heat leaving the darkness
like a lover turning on his side,
just for a moment a space, a breeze,
as if the sated wind sighed gently,
poems curling inside fluttering pages,
poems that you must be declaiming
to her in that voice I know,
poems from a different summer,
a retelling,
poems that start from the end,
does she also wrap the naked sky
around herself as you read?

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27 thoughts on “Counting Moonrises

  1. I love the title and I also love the pace of the poem, as if moving step by step. I especillay like the phrases:

    ‘a wrinkled thirst inching towards
    the suggestive shade of the big peepal’;
    ,
    ‘songs hanging yellow, bloated,
    on encumbered lines of passion’
    and

    ‘jasmine buds opening
    like amorous dilettantes,
    seducing the dark with hot fragrance’,

    Like

  2. Whistles!!!!❤️❤️ Beautifully sensuous write.. sigh.. especially love; “sweat stains spreading under her soft chemise, jasmine buds opening like amorous dilettantes,seducing the dark with hot fragrance, stars lingering on treetops, glittering detritus of a different rain, the heat leaving the darkness like a lover turning on his side, just for a moment a space, a breeze, as if the sated wind sighed gently.”❤️❤️

    Like

  3. So many great turns of phrase here: the moon sliver like a chunk of ice slipped into the long glass of liquid articulation, the swollen celsius, wrapping the naked sky around herself… Powerful visuals.

    Like

  4. I’m just shaking my head from side to side in complete awe. You are incredible talented.

    This is my favorite part:

    “even a thin sliver like a chunk of ice
    slipped into the long glass of liquid articulation”

    Like

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