I wonder what comes.

I brush froth and swallow a stray hair,

And cleanse the palate,

And spit again.

All returns to itself,

Two bodies undressed,

Cover in haste,

Pillows separate.

Sounds become words again,

Crumpled sheets smoothen,

The mattress rearranged,

Only the clarity of it happened,

The certainty of its physicality remains.

Everything subdues,

I put my hair in place.

All evidence of the act is replaced.

Nimble fingers unpeel the rind,

Scented in the juice of its ripeness.

Love is the coaxing that knives us open,

The pith is when it does,

We know not whether the seed we find,

If we are sowing or reaping.

Akansha Naithani