When I said go beyond, I meant beseech.
You howled the want of a wolf looming behind slim thrum of after rain, where I mostly hiss sharp as python. The first thing, you etched in me, with your body-- a pelage of trust, the same thicket I would get lost in. I asked myself then, should the love I carry, chase or cling like these nettles jabbing feet in search of carnal and conquer. So, I smile to receive the ache; insect-severe, arrow-shot. Until, that night licked up whet silhouettes and the moon in your mouth, a cold tooth.
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Rushda RafeekRushda Rafeek is a writer currently based in Sri Lanka. Her fiction |