sunset town, rising love

(i)

two boys link the
smallest finger of their hands 
with each other
under sandstone
as the day ends. 
the sunlight leaves 
too many witnesses in this town; 
where the mausoleums 
consume the banks
only the daring 
or the foolish embrace each other
with browncoats on the prowl
and in love, they are both. 
they are both, in love.

(ii)

like every night, the bridge bleeds out 
into the water
as it does in european paintings
these sunset lovers may not know how to 
pronounce van gogh properly,
but dreaming of foreign freedoms is free
so they learn to kiss like the french
and fuck to new americana 
till the moon creeps away. 

In public, queer intimacy is a roundabout game. A dodged glance yields in held hands. A hidden corner, a stolen kiss. The shade of a tree means a swaying embrace. What then, does a monument shadowing upon lovers mean? 

(iii)

how similar is a body of desire 
to a site of crime. 
with splayed limbs 
eyes open to the sky 
incoherently open mouths 
and curling toes
come, officer, the sun is up again
skip the first three tombs
and peek behind the fourth
inspect every rising minaret—
there is so much 
delinquency 
under these domes. 

(iv)

when he first saw the other, 
it was their second summer
by the banks; 
the taut waterskin breaking 
against their glistening flesh 
his mahogany body embellished 
with diamonds of water 
a sip was necessary. 

As rain makes way for winter, the almond trees shed in invitation. Below them, apple merchants and seekh sellers inspect every potential consumer. There is a river of people between the two of us, jaan. Won’t you wait till I make it to you? 

(v)

a wound has opened across 
the riverbank, lover 
won’t you bloody the whole flood 
to meet me?
no, i will not perish 
from this papercut, 
but it was dire 
to feel your lips 
around me again. 

(vi)

a lover’s embrace
breaks like wishbones 
you never leave without 
the desire for another; 
the crypt next to us
flickers in the nightlight
here, we etch our names 
with hearts around it 
and wonder 
why they convict lovers
of defiling history
when we were making 
our own instead. 



Images courtesy of Sunil Gupta and Vadehra Art Gallery.