sometimes, my mouth feels like the leaking tap
that my father broke trying to fix.
other times, it feels like a baby oasis hallucinating
a horde of thirsty men.
it has always been barren as long as i can remember:
spitting out skeletons buried in it and swallowing them back
as the frozen dunes of my tongue fray at each cloudcomb of the wind.
but one day it rained for two years
and even after the hollow of my past sucked till it was full,
there was still a little lake left to drink from,
a little piece of the mirrored sky to cuddle with.
my father begins to believe that he can't fix it as the tap
begins to leak again and the bodies of the horde begin to drown in me.
when all your loved ones gather outside your house
and you can't let them in, then it's your funeral.
when all your loved ones bring their ears close to you
and you can't even whisper a song, then it's your final death.
i can't tell my raving breath from the bike revving outside.
my mouth is open: come take your fill.
~ ajay
4/1/2025
