event horizon

 
 
  
during the midday lull of  
a small mountain cafe, in the winter  
of 2011, i fucked for the first time
 
(it was her first time too)
 
as i hovered around the membrane
of pleasure and pain, a man tried to  
see through the glass; struggling to  
yank the bolted door open
 
we giggled and fucked harder: till earth  
lost its gravity, i lost my girth and the floor

seemed like an appropriate resting place  
 
(he had come for a free glass of chai)
later, a couple of pigeons kept flying into  
the tinted glass as we fucked again:
 
wilder, faster: teeth, hair and nails
 
sweat-drenched and euphoric, we thought  
we were in love (we were not)
 
that night, we both came to know what our teachers
had done to the other in childhood  
 
which we had not told a soul, till then
 
by next morning, we just knew
 
we were in love (we were not)
 
i was the most precious object  
on earth, while she was capable of
telekinesis and majick

the previous winter had taken my brother
 
did not cry during the funeral, walked up close,  
stood still: watching the fire hiss, and crackle
 
realised the knots in the wood took longer
to burn, and exploded when they did,
shooting embers like

a minuscule blackhole
 
in 2012, i told the girl
her cunt was that blackhole for me:
slowed things down, spewed a part
of what it took and made me
explode every time  
 
that time we kept going—till love  
seemed like a convenience; youth
felt like an immaculate lie; the sounds  

from the funeral became a soft hum
 
that night, i cried

shooting embers