A Free Hand: Subtext as Content

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A Free Hand: Subtext as Content by Amudha Rajendran  

When you said you eat chocolate Kisses

because they fold onto your tongue,

all-a-piece, like a nipple torn from breast,

I grazed a thumb against my shirt,

craving that emotional color each fruit

wears to the occasion of its ripening

to be inside me; a liquid note,

like desire’s nude eyelid.

You said you didn’t read

The White Hotel’s first pages except

to feel engaged with me in my absence,

it did it for you, dining off of me,

the adult mouth rediscovering the breast,

where sex is cooling bread;

a bite of sour-dough that puffs

against the ceiling of your mouth.

I heard you say: I want you

to come over so I can eat you out,

I took in your words, and first,

it was my ear-canal that responded.

Now, you say you would like

your free hand inside of me

while you eat soup or read your paper?

I understand this:

when I speak with you,

I place my hand between my breasts

so you will be forced

to look into my face:

my face is my body’s flag,

we are, propelled by one engine.

Amudha Rajendran and Nerve.com