First Times

The first time we held each other's hands,
I was counting infinity backwards,
making sure my brain doesn't explode,
Your hands were so much cooler than I expected,
but that's okay,
my hands must have been warm to you;

The first time I bought a rose for you,
I asked myself "Now what?"
as if the train ride between the florist and a bent-knee proposal
was too unromantic to exist,
I hoped I saved the rose
from being squished enough to say "I love you",
You didn't look like they do in movies,
I was disappointed,
You were just being yourself;

The first time I wasn't single on Valentine's,
I expected us to monopolise the day,
Apparently, it is the most suspicious day to leave home
and my parents still aren't sure about us,
I guess cartoons on Valentine's don't hurt either.

The first time we bought corner-seat tickets,
I realized that I am pretty good at being unabashed
I realized that courtesy comes easy when guilty,
I realized that corner seats are not good ergonomics,
but we did watch that movie twice
and I still don't know what it was about;

The first time you settled onto my lap,
you looked at me as if I had a degree in this,
I was surprised at how we pulled the stars into sparking,
I bit more than I could chew,
You looked like fruit-salad after,
custard and papaya,
You own a lot of scarves now;

The first time I wrote a poem for you,
I spent an hour trying to mix words into beakers,
distilling, filtering, titrating, refilling,
Your beauty was impossible to find,
but it kept laughing from behind non-smiles,
I revisited those evening walks like a homicide detective

and found nothing,
You were the one that got away.


Image Source: Tender Moments by Kim Roberti

Answering in Graphic Detail

You ask me what do I want from you,

I want you to count the number of unfoldings it takes
the next time you wear a saree,
and half-consider my request to stand under the shower
before smirking and calling yourself silly.
I want to trace poems in the small of your back
and have my fingers make you sing them,
have your fingers shout into my back
when words are too embarrassed to carry your messages.
I want you to wear dupattas like tarpaulins
until they hide all evidence of my exploits,
their pomegranate shades peek from the hem of your dress,
Will you remember falling above me
and call it reason enough to bruise?
I want you to open emails at work
and remember my tongue on your thighs,
your warmth will have nothing to do
with an overheating laptop,
I want you to know the elastic of your underwear,
how it stretches and folds when half-removed at your shins
and all its pillars are trembling masses,
You will not remember the trembling, no,
I want you to budget for clothes every time you visit me --
anticipate a torn kurti every now and then,
I want you to tell me that you did not know
that French Kisses were not meant for lips,
my breath will light your way into darkness,
that moment when the universe was born,
you will find God in my ministrations,
I want your salvation,
I want you to want it all like the three seconds
that purchased my flesh with murderous intent,
I carry those scars as an instruction manual
and I know that you don't need it.
That's what I want.
I want you to write on me
like I am the last thing that will be ever written,
the last thing to be read,
the last thing to be touched,
the only thing that will be remembered.