By: Adreyo Sen

Are we to be loved
in pieces?

The smile you force out of us
with some sudden strange act of sweetness,
the red in our cheeks when we are fixed
by your hawk-like eyes,
the slenderness of our hands when we arrange
the face on which
you plant your kisses,
the dance of chiffon against our thighs
when we walk away,
lit by your regret long after street-light
returns us to the safety of our dreams?

And, having been loved in pieces,
are we to lose our love,
when our smiles break,
and our cheeks disappear under our grief,
and our hands lose their blue-veined poetry,
and our chiffon creases above our soft bellies
that fill with your coldness?