Poem on a lonely wall

This time when she walks in, she looks different. Her hair cut shorter, her eyeballs constantly shifting
spots and her mouth cutting down on the unnecessary small talks. Her face outlined the lineaments
of her own likeness- the sharp jaw line, the dark brown eyes and the chiselled nose. Her lips were
still her lips, parched, flaked around the corners threatening blood, vying pleasure from the
careworn hungry souls. She takes me to another room this time. She shuts the door, walking past as
the wave of her cologne hits my nose, my mind still processing of the times she had the long untidy
gossamer of hair. She has grown older, I noticed, in herself the petulancy was now smudged and
blurred. I feel these flashes of clarity setting in, like these infinite sequence of events condensed in
the form of a single anecdote. Everything that was once beautiful now lay in ruins, striped and
violated until there was nothing more left to devour. The place smells like a placenta of stink,
catered with lingerie and cigarette butts, forming a whirlpool. She closes in on me, her hands
travelling behind my back in an arch, her lips slopping on mine. I picture her, my hands sliding inside
her lacy lacrosse dress, trying to seep in the camouflages under her skin. She stops for a fleeting
second, her eyes transfixed on mine, with an unaccustomed indifference to the infinite identities she
holds within herself. She fleeced on me with a slight sneeze of remorse, maybe in hope that I won’t
show indifference to her spirit, like the men before. For once, she wouldn’t be treated as a device of
marital infidelity. She slips off her clothes and reaches deeper. I could hear the palpitation of my
heart, like a cardiac cacophony as the hands closed in on the companions of the night. I see her
naked body on the bed, the outline of bones that form meekly the person who lies there, blanketed
in malaise. My teeth gnash at her skin, her dark colour smudging the differences that demarcate us.
My mouth travels deep, between shaking calves and furrowed thighs, seeping in the places as dark
as the abysses she walks into. My hands strike every corner, seeking the souvenirs in exchange for a
name. Like two strangers making love in ruins, apocalyptic, yet so beautiful. I feel lotions dripping;
sweat cleaning at the side of my brows, sifting in the emotional bends. The desires sway like a
pendulum, penetrating the phallus under the corpses she buried under her, hoping one day to break
free. That one day after the rain the fireflies will return. One day, when she wouldn’t be lost in
the transition to a system, vaguely as tranquil as this.