Made Love To A Clove

This poem attempts to explore the crevices between the white and the black, the grey area, where most of us practically live but rarely call our home.

Made Love To A Clove is a subtle commentary on the complexities of love in modern times, unhealthy obsessions, and a fondness for Kreteks.

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Cover Photo by Ravindra Patoju

Troubled boy, desperate for me

I lay my eyes on you

And fall for your cruelty

Honey my heart’s got no beat

You left your lighter in my sheets

Rather impetuous, rather weak

Smokey you kiss me wild

I run my fingers through your insecurities

Stirring the blankness of your mind

Don’t step on my cold floor, with bare feet

I promise no warmth at four

If you walk in that door, for heat

You’re a runner, you never unpack

I’m no settler either, I say

Yet every week you’re back

Draw the warmth out of my torn chest

To fill yourself up

And rest and rest

Make my eyes water

And dry me out until

I light a clove and down a quarter

Collect my tears with both your hands and wash them

Clean of me

Of all sane things, and condemn

Wipe my memory clean, knock me out

Choke me with deep kisses

I have an appetite for doubt

Leave me with the deafening quiet of my heart

My heart’s got no beat

And you got no heart

Troubled boy, desperate for peace

Rip me apart mercilessly

And do as you please

Honey my heart’s got no beat

Nothing you can do about it

Nothing you can cheat.

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Credits

This contribution is photographed by Ravindra Patoju & acted by Sriharshini Toleti.

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Product

This poem is available in paperback & ebook.

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