bliss station ~ poetry

sweet lingering thing

(or, manchurian with toothpicks sticking out of it)

the image
of her face

fills up all the curve
of the spoon

as if I eat with it

I eat with hands

I sit down
cross legged

& we eat with hands

on the hotel table
I make stick figures
with toothpicks

which come alive
& are body
for their minds

he keeps taking out
tissue paper that
come out for no reason

for no reason
she tilts her head
dabbing her lips

I pick up the spoon

the image
of my face
is all over it

but in the end
they bring us saunf
& sugar in a silver plate

& a bowl of warm water
with quartered lemon

as if I have been eating
with hands all along

~Ajay
17/8/2019