Let me write you there where my poems fail,

where endings are new beginnings.

Two aging strand ends, two baby lip ends,
two porous tongue ends, two bone finger ends

in line after lines, repeating, 
'successive matings, successive deaths is also a line'.

Let me call you there where my being searches for its lost,

where hollowness continues as a road.

An extended yet temporary kiss, the humanly flash of an eye tease, two raw vaccums ready to freeze

into white crumbs of a nested sex
which makes every saint a super saint

and where else will I get you, show me the corners where my fingertips give up

and then I won't ask anymore.
I will make no further claims of a human love beyond death.

A sex so intense and repetitive, it wouldn't take away a thousand lives 
but would smile at the one who is dead.

Let me make you the corrupt, I always was.
I have loved you and I am always lucky for you calling my style, love.

I can murder you better than most humans
and I can assure no lover has been a better man.

Let me take you there where I have failed as a man
You will see, one ghost pleasure thought otherwise.

It did continue undeterred as a phoenix love and soon it will my second chance.

I will again begin loving you with a veinless Sun.

Let me not take you anywhere. Let me sit beside you in a grey afternoon

and speak in wordless words, 'This is the best I could have done'.

© Daipayan Nair