Another Evening with You

by Vivek Sharma

 

I’ve stopped liking

the taste of solitude

in the roof

of my mouth, my tongue

circumventing the head

of desire. Something

I’ve stopped liking

about you—how you

refuse to take in

quiet evening breeze

from the balcony, looking out

at the mountains, with

clouds forming & reforming

strange unrefined patterns.

You want me to open

my mouth, like Krishna

and show you

the glimpse of a universe—

the milky white constellations

spreading over & over.

You want me to swallow

this bitter truth, that even

together we somehow

manage to be lonely

and in the swallowing

you want me to realize

there are thousands

of tiny little lives

wriggling, furiously

sliding down

from my mouth

to my gullet

to my stomach—eager

to meet their end

in the acid bath, where

the spleen of the night

burns the sad fuckers

and melts them into

sweet nothing. Yes—

I’ve stopped liking

this very act of

thinning out, dissolving.