Evening

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Your lips smelt of blood that evening
In middle-class semi-colons, our palates parted
Tongues dipped in lava.

We walked above embers of convention
Rehearsing the impossibilities widening every step,
While sanity drowned inside grandmother’s quilt
Burning my angry and neurotic quest.

The rain pissed over the ceilings
Filtering in, escaping the pubic holes of horizon
Jilted to die in the drains of blood.

I was spilled out of the ink bottle of innocence
Over dry-lands, outgrown, fermented
Coming out of the pages of Bronte and Plath
Relieved of the burden of insanity:
Dreams.

I left my childhood that twilight.
I did not masturbate that night.

©2023 Kaustabh Kashyap.