April 23rd, 2009


Happy International pixel-stained technopeasant wretch day!

...And happy birthday naomikritzer :)

I am still encountering WristFail, and also KeyboardFail; fixing the lattter ought to help the former, and a new keyboard is in the mail.
Till then. I'll just share my bit of technopeasantry.

He says

His eyes follow curling trails of incense
and red silk creases
over my breast
You're what a gently nurtured wife should be
he says

I shred spiced peacock wing
a morsel a time into
his mouth.
Not like those other girls
he says from my lap
Messing around with that flute player.
He feels me tense.
I know, he says
It disgusts.

He's exotic, of course.
Skin dark as twilight
sandalwood scent
(rich yellow draped silk
eyes gleaming mischief)
And that music.
And you girls like the exotic.
You don't understand
Don't know right
he says. That's why you need husbands.

I smile down at him.
Pomegranate seeds follow peacock wing
One at a time between his lips
red as virgin blood.
Until he sleeps, finally
I wrap him in red silk

gather peacock feathers
pick the brightest shivering blue
shred its ragged barbs
slice the shaft
strip it down
for a crown of gold on black hair
(over dark skin draped with sandalwood silk)
And that music.

And I wait in silence for my flute player
my Shyaam
Who carried a mountain
danced on a serpent
and does not say
I am gently nurtured
And do not understand.