Vapors, inhaled and exhaled,
your porous skin whistles
Your skin has melted my darling
and lit these oiled sinks that I call palms
Here I collect you, between my threaded selves
Weave you with a needle in my teeth
and carve you
Your incense, bourbon patches on my winter body
I cling to you
dance on your shoulders, see-saw and rhythms
I think the atmosphere is in my mouth
and I have begun to choke
So I slide into you, legs first
lungs floating in saline bowls
and disintegrate on the tip of your tongue
I think I’m all grey, my love
I think I’m all grey
and that’s never gonna change
for you are not really here
For women like me
who carry a floppy womb of fate
and tyres on our belly
The worms of destiny and sheets of uncertainty
You are not really here
You are just pink powder
in my salivating throat
Bubble and broth,
frothing and flowing down my braids
I think I want you even like this
Poem and photograph by Aakriti Kuntal
Aakriti, aged 25, is a poetess from India. She writes because for her it is the most beautiful way to endure life. Aakriti writes for the Writings of Aakriti Kuntal, and her work has been published in 1947 Literary Journal, Duane’s PoeTree blog, Tuck Magazine and Indian Periodical among others. She won the Reuel International Prize 2017 for upcoming poet.
Aakriti is a force of nature. Just brilliant!!!
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Thank you so much, Dennis ❤️❤️
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😊
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Beautifully abstract!
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Thank you 🙂
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My Pleasure I enjoyed it!
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Reblogged this on A Forum for Divergent Literature.
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This piece haunts me Aakriti.
“Here I collect you, between my threaded selves
Weave you with a needle in my teeth
and carve you”
Damn!
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Thank you so much for all the love. It means a lot. ❤️❤️❤️
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My pleasure
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Reblogged this on Brave and Reckless and commented:
Aakriti Kuntal weaves an intoxicating spell on Whisper and the Roar. . .
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