Death Star

Writings of Aakriti Kuntal

Icicles sleep beneath your fingers like plateaus shaped into mannequins of thoughts, dense and ugly Ready to eat the world A night sleeps in your mouth You burp and a star falls, collapses on the heaving stomach of Venus A parabola of red bourbon blobs, A stretch mark, fissures and sleeping willow trees, prostrate and widening Inch by inch, the standing structures fall, dissolve and become an abstraction under the color of your chin, its frolicking lamp shade You talk of death, death between fingers, intimate as a kiss, strenuous as dandelions crossed in spark, death as a looming light, circling all our faces but thinning only in your eye, a membrane lipid and alive, where your lips glimmer as ellipses annihilated, exhausted light and marching roses You click your tongue A hammer strikes A man dies somewhere, an abortion occurs, a tideling drinks to itself and your words absorb…

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