Fresh Paneer

confetti in my ears,


like the red fox’s cry

piercing the midnight,

all its amoebic clamour,

we dance up to

each others’ rooms,

looking for cottoned secrets

and cocooned happiness

that breaks up into feathers of peace

becoming our gossip’s breakfast later.

we made this kitchen blossom

as a slaughterhouse for anxiety:

rosicrucian laws of friendship.

and others judge and scoff,

but the kinkiness never fades-

you see, it is our heart

and bubbling breaths are the

oceans of this apparition’s soul.

you see, it’s been weeks since

I’ve cried, and I know who

I need to thank and why!


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