i think of you on top of me

like a bell on a tower

tolling the end of a plague.

we're fucking at her funeral.

it was me who made the coffin

large enough to make her corpse

look like a child's even though

the only childlike thing about her

was the way she witnessed her own cruelty

like an innocent bystander.

i could have made a noose

out of her padded bra.

i could have made the country promise

to make all the lemon-eyed old-powers

gather all the bras drying out in the open,

as if a neo-swadeshi movement

for this neoliberal neoconservative age,

and tie them together to make a toll-free bridge.

we'll grab the speed limit signs

as we jump into the water below

and use them as paddles to reach

the orgasmic whirlpool of death.

we're all equally wet but some of our beds are warmer.

i think of her climbing me, like the sun

climbs the high noon, like the knowing-smile

climbs your scrunched-up nose.

~ ajay

12/11/2024