I didn’t know your name. My breasts were yet to bloom. Summer laid shivering silver under the doormat. The code was dengue.
Conviction is our neighbor’s moth. Months of mango have long since desiccated on solar opals. Discussions drip greasy contraltos. Everyone reflects in degrees of chlorine now. Everyone but me. The night you had caught my eyes, I had caught fire.
Under the bed, I sat hunched with a biology book. I had failed maths. And menstruation, too.
I didn’t know your name. So I assigned you hieroglyphs. Late one noon, one of their anthers dehisced. I knew your pheromones by heart. I knew how they hammered me inside out. The underside of my flesh is still the color of liver-blood.
Your eyes would never travel south. Indifference had begun to sprout buds of rebellion. At 15, I was a battlefield.
I forget the season of gold mist. I forget the hour she baptised me. Tides swim awkwardly as I fantasise your mouth in mine. The air is metal. I taste radioactivity. You draw paisleys on a square inch of skin. You draw till seismology is a one word song.
Time will condense to a magnolia of ether-moon. My constellation has assumed your name.
insanebloom 
The underside of my flesh is still the color of liver-blood…. dang what an image… what images in general… always amazed at them….reflecting in degrees of chlorine is another fav
Summers in the tropic are often fraught with diseases. You can sniff chlorine all around, so much that it crops up in almost every conversation! Thanks for reading, Claudia 🙂
And your Flickr stream is delightful!
There are so many excellent images stitched together here.. images exotic and gritty at the same time.. of biology and growth.. and yet with metal and chemicals.. the contrast is quite stunning.
Your comment oddly reminds me of the Union Carbide Disaster, Bhopal ’84 (^metal and chemicals) and how Nature slowly restored herself back (^biology and growth).
I always look forward to your visit, Bjorn. Thanks!
I didn’t think of it that way.. but when you mention it.. I could see it..
Powerful images & words; a very unique style that I respond to greatly; my first time reading your work, a cherry boy is a forest of rich fruits; love your lines /you draw paisleys on a square inch of skin/you draw until seismology is a one word song; this is my favorite poem out on the trail today; smiles.
My pleasure that you liked my work. 🙂
so many amazing images… they seamlessly flowed… great write 🙂
Visceral and powerful write. Wow.
Beautiful! metaphor and awesome story.
You have an imagination like no other.
Love it! 🙂
Thank you, Charlie 🙂
I agree with your vivid imagery, and you have shared that feeling of indecisiveness of youth torn between want and fear. Nice.
Isn’t it often a civil war, this first step into love?
Yes it is, and the peace treaty can be very beautiful 🙂
End-of-war peace 🙂 🙂
the old saying in love is if you are both exactly alike, one of you is unnecessary 🙂
this –> “I didn’t know your name. So I assigned you hieroglyphs. “
That was a last minute revision. So glad you liked it, Stacy!
Whew…amazing write, Mohana…the passion in this is fierce! “I knew your pheromones by heart. I knew how they hammered me inside out”…wow!
Thanks a ton, Gayle!
This is an excellent piece with such telling imagery Mohana. The references to ‘name’ are chilling, very well done indeed.
Creativity oozes from your fingertips!
So sweet of you, Margaret. Thanks so much!
a very passionate write…
Thank you, Sumana di 🙂
Hello, my first time I think coming across your work – you have a fresh voice and very considerable talent – I love the intensity in your voice and reading this was a real treat for me – Thank you… With Best Wishes Scott http://www.scotthastie.com
Thank you so much!
“You draw paisleys on a square inch of skin. You draw till seismology is a one word song.” – some intensity you build in here – absolutely loved it. Perhaps say – lived it, though your words.
What sublime language, striking images! More importantly this poem moves in both sensuous and sensual ways, a constant opening, slowly at first, then hesitantly, exploring the inner self, critical, sensuous, with unstated similes, contrasts to chemicals, flower and body parts until the poem climaxes in an array of emotion and an eternal image of the moon as a magnolia blossom. Pure genius.
Thank you so much, Gay!! 🙂
Unreal, girl.
“Conviction is our neighbor’s moth. Months of mango have long since desiccated on solar opals.”
“I didn’t know your name. So I assigned you hieroglyphs.”
And the line I misread as “The air is mental.”
Welcome to my blog 🙂
Did you like this?
Yes, absolutely. I loved it!