Stray clouds,
hippie cloudscapes…
let’s spread and collect as much cloud as we want in this vanishing evening.
So that I can enter inside you and I can write some lines when your breasts sway like storms.
Every night seems like a bus ride through monsoon roads,
always existentially available.
Astronauts, let’s become astronauts of our affairs…you the wet bird,
me the wind on your watered wings.
The cessation of music flowing like curtains blow in sadness… mortified beings scattering blue whiskey from their brown eyes…
It’s a day to be erased…it’s a day to be scarred along the stone walls.

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Photograph: Lakshay Jain.