At night my city shapeshifts.
Now a light sabre, its edges art deco,
the city lacerates the umbrage and
the nimbostratus we have prayed for
all summer.
You remind me, the other night
leaning against the balcony
I drew a simile with an age old tree;
it inhales all that we be; it exhales gas, pollinates our sleep until we are
obliterated to be nothing
but a haze of dreams.
I grin. My city is bipolar. I say.
We make love after awhile. In our afterglow
the city becomes a drunkard unzipping
its mellowness in the first shower of the season.
Kushal Poddar
Illustration Nick Victor
Kushal Poddar lives in Kolkata, India
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