Everything Poetry

Rêve de minuit (Midnight Dream)

Stepping out of my midnight chai
I disowned my conscience in the most overlooked corner of your room.
A band-aid or two will hide the silent wounds, I am sure.
So I get back to staring at you —
Glistening in a sweaty glaze of my pungent perfume.
A hundred rupees, it costs – a local bottle, with a fake French touch.
A hundred rupees was what I cost too;
On my first night, with cheap rouge dabbed on my numb cheeks.
You see, one I still remember.
A middle-aged father, with coarse yellowed hands on my breasts.
He had cried too, when he asked my age in the end.
I heard your lips mutter a woman in a tired sleep.
I loved watching the soft caress of pain on your sleeping face.
You never kissed me tonight.
(Well, they hardly do)
But, you searched for something near my navel – a known scar, a freckle, maybe a tattoo?
You sank into your pillow – a shade of pristine white.
Before you fucked me hard with clenched teeth and teary eyes,
Like I was all rubber and grit.
It’s late.
I have bagged the cheque you left under the bedside lamp.
I should get going, one more to attend tonight.
Let me write this down somewhere then.
“I pray you get her back.
And flood her navel with kisses.
P.S. Wash my stinking drops of blood off your pillow.”
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