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Ravi Shankar

Unavowable, us, after midnight’s plash has darkened
The storefronts and filled the cabs,
Leaving behind a keening the flavor of turmeric,
Yellowing the air, acquitting the moment
From historicity. What exists but now, wet and pulmonary,
Rinsed of context like two glasses used to mix a drink,
What’s not soluble in liquid exchange?
Personally, I’d trade my kingdom for your clavicle,
The chance to draw a bow across the viola of your hips.

Ravi Shankar

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