TerribleTerrible sexts for lonely nights #8

​This may sound unbelievable, so 

please bear with me for a moment, 

there had been a moment, when I 

discovered entire worlds lie hidden 

between the spine of a book, entire 

gospels, about pleasure and wanting
There’s Ginny who walked into the Chamber 

of Secrets- head held high- who gave herself 

into the arms of a dark haired teenage boy because she wanted to, and no one judged her, no one called her a slut
There’s Luna with her collection of sex toys- ropes and vibrators and lubricants- and an appetite that could swallow a man whole

there’s Myrtle who moaned loud enough for three floors down to know when she orgasmed, and didn’t let anyone tell 

her a woman sounds best when she

doesn’t speak at all
There’s Pansy Parkinson who wore short skirts to Quidditch games and was often seen in empty classrooms-three fingers deep inside-  shivering as she gushed

There’s Parvati and Padma with skin as brown as oak and a string of lovers who lived between creases of their thighs and died at the edge of their tongue, there’s Ms. McGonagall who celebrated her 62nd birthday by inviting three male strippers into her bed, and as they lay spent- with scratches that bled and throbbed- she took a bath 

and poured herself another drink
There’s Dumbledore who absconded with his lover Grindelwald to Argentina and I hear they walk in eight gay parades every year, hands firmly held together

There’s Hagrid who weaves flowers into his matted beard and loves gardening and identifies as submissive, there’s Mad Eye Moody who moonlights as a paraplegic nude model, 

There’s Bellatrix who grabbed the sheets as her lover entered her from behind, who wanted to be held by her wrists and pushed onto the wall and kissed till her lips bled
and there’s Harry, with his tongue tasting like the sea after he’d been between her thighs long enough, who held her in his arms and watched her fall asleep, for whom the sexiest part about fucking was the intimacy after
In that moment I learnt, all desires were magic and the only potion for love was acceptance 

you’re waking up in a world of dreams where the only sin is to judge a soul by the weight it carries, and the only thing forbidden 

is the forest where centaurs roam

Terrible sexts for lonely nights #7.

​Eating her out on colder nights always reminded me of sin, her skin taut and 

erupting into goosebumps at a moment’s 

notice, I let my tongue find its way across 

the sweet smell of her thighs
Her smell was a concoction of berries 

and tea leaves and kisses that hurt, 

and where my tongue now dug in, 

felt as wet as her throat
Aria knew about my fascination with pain

She had seen me turn into clay in her hands when she came out of the bathroom 

after a shower, hair still damp and open, 

and let her towel slide off slowly from her gorgeous mounds, glistening and inviting 
She came closer, to the bed where 

I sat, and straddled me, slowly 

rubbing her naked crotch

on mine, making me hard and fierce

She submitted, yet in her submission 

I found my surrender, she pushed me 

away and pulled me close, she ripped 

me apart and healed me with a kiss, she 

left welts where she’d been and wanting 

where she hadn’t, she grabbed me by my 

hair and made my tongue forget syllables seeking release between her thighs
Aria held my hands and guided it across 

her body, the way lovers show each other constellations, as if daring me to take her

She pressed her body against mine and 

stroked me slowly, hearing me moan

 

I squeeze and grope, and she bites 

her lips, the way she grabbed the 

sheets when inside her my tongue 

felt the shudders of an explosion,

she breathed out heavily, her 

eyes closed, her lips trembling 

her hair thrown back, 

still damp

still open
Aria pushes me away and opens her eyes, 

and there’s only sadness in them, 

like empty cafes on rainy days, 

she kisses me goodbye gently, a 

peek of herself from behind 

the curtain where she stayed, 

out of reach

that night, I tried to get drunk, 

and forget how her lips had felt 

on mine, but I was neither very 

good at drinking, and my 

forgetting was bad as ever

Terrible Sexts For Lonely Nights #6.

​Of all places we could’ve met, she 

chose a coffee shop outside a bar, 

where people came, half lost, 

half wandering into nights

she stumbled out of the bar

throwing open the doors, so 

a draught folded, and slipped

past the tattooed bouncer

and she was laughing, as 

she sat across from me, I 

saw a hickey, shining 

wistfully, on her neck

where kisses used to be, 

where my desires still are
She effortlessly worked through 

her cup of coffee, cupping it in 

her palms, and smiling

at me, her eyelids 

heavy as snow, she said 

I need some hotness, to keep me 

from freezing tonight
Then she hailed a cab, 

I hope you don’t mind, she turned 

and looked at me, and I followed 

her into the backseat, fetid smell 

of damp leather, and her hair, 

ruffled like they knew, where 

my hands wanted to be

She said, go, and the driver led the car

through the deserted city streets, with

no particular address in mind, just two

lovers, doubled up in the backseat, 

and their reflection in the mirror, 

objects are closer than 

they appear, in this
And she said, don’t give me hickeys

give me yearning, 

and give me slow poetry, that

unfolds, while you pin my hands 

to the foggy window, and my wrist 

turns numb from being

held too long, while your lips, 

find where my words come from, 

and with my toes, 

I’ll seek you too
When I find you, I’ll hold you 

between the soles of my feet, 

and slowly watch you moan

tortured breathing hot on my neck, 

I’ll watch how you plead with your 

eyes and dissolve me

in your name, the car will 

cruise through empty streets, 

and bits of music from the radio

will drift between us at times, 

I’ll bite my lips, when

I feel your wet tongue, 

under my ear, where I tuck 

in loose strands of hair, my 

feet will work faster, you’ll 

have a rhythm of your own too
And there will be a climax, where 

the driver turns right swiftly, and 

you crumple into my arms just as 

I feel the runny moistness, cold

as a trickle, briny as tears, tracing 

a new city across my feet, and the 

driver will drive on 

the cab, into the night, without any destination but the music 

from the radio, and 

spent stars, for company

Terrible sexts for lonely nights #5.

​Hiding from prying eyes, she escapes 

every night to the tunes of my flute, 

this is something I take both pride 

and envy in, for I can never be sure, 

what drives her crazy, 

what makes her thighs moist

is it the thought of my dusky hard body, 

where goosebumps erupt like scales 

and a mole shines like a lonely moon, 

across vast heavens of darkness?
or is it my flute, 

does the shrill tune set loose

crawling throes of desperation, 

to be eaten out

in the middle of the cane fields?
Before me, she drops her dupatta and 

bares her heaving mounds of invitation, 

and when I do nothing, 

just stare, 

do nothing, 

just watch 

what a throbbing heartbeat does to her hardening nipples, she comes closer and pushes herself against me, and taking my hand in hers

she slides them down to where 

mountain moss grow wet with rain

where mountain spring flows from
Every night, she turns around before 

pulling me inside her, every night

I beg her to look into my eyes, 

as if they are the only testament 

to the love that breaks apart my body
but she doesn’t listen, she looks away

Every night, I take her from behind, 

her voice my only companion 

edging me on

instructing me 

when I must go gentle and when she feels invincible, the wind carries the strawberry scent of her shampoo, a strand of hair 

tickles my nose as 

I unleash myself 

inside her void, 

and she screams, yes, fill up this emptiness, and her screaming awakes some sleeping birds
Before leaving, she kisses me 

softly, I ask her,

why she doesn’t look at me

she smiles, because every night 

your flute lures me into your arms

might be our last, 

every time I tiptoe back home, 

might be my brother’s anger 

moulded into metal 

poured into barrels 

shot at 200 kilometers per second 

into these breasts you love and 

this face you kiss and this body 

you melt in your embrace
I don’t want you to see me, lover 

because in ecstasy there’s fear, 

and in love there’s shame, and 

between my thighs, they tell me

lies my brother’s ijjat

Terrible sexts for lonely nights #4

​In New Orleans, they have a jazz fest 

this time of the year, and the men 

who play the best sax 

are always dark skinned, 

and the audience, they say 

‘ain’t no nigga who can’t 

play the sax real smooth’

But I’ve picked my afflictions with care

and tonight, the only thing I caress till

she sings four pitches high and wakes

the neighbors up, will be you
You’re a musician yourself, you say

and I don’t disbelieve you 

for one second

the way your tongue 

makes waves over mine

isn’t very different from

fingers on piano keys

the way you pull me close, and 

gasp, and move your hands over

the contours of my naked body

isn’t very different from hands 

exploring the curves in a trombone

you pull me between your thighs

hold me there till my breath feels

like fire, on your crotch

and I’m reminded of how, in seventh

grade, you humped the wooden cello 

and between your legs, the notes

turned to water
They say, ‘ain’t no nigga who can’t fuck 

the way, sticks touch them drums, hard-

but like a poem- meant to put you at ease’

tonight, you make me take you, in my arms

you make me look at you, and you say,

look how your skin meets mine, 

like the sand

meets the sea, 

and when I push myself inside

you with a moan, you call it a flood
You straddle me, and push me

to the floor, you look like the sun

spilling into the darkness of my skin

you slide so easily on me, it feels like

being back in the jazz club, and

letting the breathing flow into 

music, you put your small hands 

on the vastness of my chest, and 

heave yourself up, and

let yourself down, and

the sound of your skin

slapping against mine

is sweeter than any music, I’ve made
Then suddenly, it is time for the climax

it is time for me, to rise 

into a crescendo 

and when my breath 

fails to hold, gush

And you rest yourself against my body 

and let the world slip away, 

they say, ‘ain’t no nigga who 

doesn’t fear dying twice as 

sooner as others’

And it’s probably true, but when I’m 

in your embrace, or 

when I flow, in your hands

death doesn’t feel like a scary thing, anymore

Terrible sexts for lonely nights #3.

​We walk along roads wet with the rain

which turns the sidewalks into sand, 

we walk along the bistros and the café 

where young lovers don’t feel the need 

to become each other’s umbrellas, we 

walk across a backdrop of walls painted

with ‘immigrant whores fuck off’ and street

signs which lead one into no particular direction or cause, we walk like strangers

pretending not to know each other tonight
But like all pretense, this’ll last only till we 

reach your apartment, till our clothes come

off before we’ve made up our mind whether

I’ll take you in your bed or the couch facing

the street

This pretense lasts till you stand naked in 

front of me like a proud fluttering flag, and

I shiver like a newcomer, standing at your 

threshold

you hold my face and guide 

my lips across your naked landscape, gasping 

as my teeth bite on to your land, and my 

tongue leaves glistening trail like streams 

flowing through deserts
When the pretense is lost, and I’ve become

a part of you, you’ll take me in your mouth,

warm and wet, and welcoming of sin

and I’d feel myself become a street sign that 

always points west, and throbs and sways,

entangled in your tongue

 

your arms wrap around my waist, and you pull

me deeper till you gag 

and I, worried of my

intrusion, pull away

but you hold me just as close 

and your head moves like a magic trick 

appearing and disappearing that

part of me, engulfing me whole
soon, your mouth takes me in faster, 

and my hands hold on to your hair, 

in the frenzy of

approaching floods, 

your fingers push inside 

you- two at a time- and as I flow

for the first time, in your mouth
I wonder if it is possible, to distinguish 

my desires, from your welcome

your ocean, from my shores

your land, from my tenancy 

Terrible sexts for lonely nights #2.

​Getting drunk does things to you, you

said, it makes you want to fly, and 

in the urgency for flight, you hold 

my hand,  as if holding onto you

will make me sprout wings too, 

I don’t protest, feeling your

cold fingers around my wrist
you whisper into my ears

it was your words on mine, 

it could just as easily have been, 

your slippery tongue on mine

it could just as easily 

have been, 

you on me
you arch your back in a gorgeous 

curve, it helps with the 

aerodynamics of flight, you say

it could just as easily have been 

your thighs muffling 

my ears, till the only

sounds I heard was the blood 

rushing through my head, 

and the feral moans my tongue 

extracted from your throat

as I probe inside your body,

and you throw back your head

and arch your back, offering me

more of you to lick into ecstasy
your nails digs into my wrist, only 

to make sure I don’t let go, you say

it could just as easily have 

been, your  nails on my thighs

grabbing on 

while your hips 

buckle and press 

down harder 

around my face

it could have been the shuddering

of a river that breaks off from glaciers,

flowing down, to the delta of a lover’s 

hungry mouth, 

leaving dissolving salinity

as an aftertaste

on my lips

 

getting drunk does things to you,

you say, it could just as easily have been

me, doing those things to you

while you moan- gasp- bite your lips sore- shiver all over with spasms, into a hangover 

that leaves you spent, like the day

that leaves you explored, like sin

Terrible sexts for lonely nights #1

​Some men choose to 

gaze into the abyss, 

and when the abyss

gazes into them, that 

gaze turns people mad, 

they say it turns them 

into perverts, such that

they turn to seeking 

solace in the summer rain 

between warm thighs
Instead, I gaze into you while you sit 

on the counter beside the sink, feet 

dangling two feet from the slippery

floor of the bathroom we took refuge 

in, and you gaze back  into me, your 

eyes heavy with want, and your fingers 

twiddling where my tongue wished to

seek solace, your fingers, wet and

glistening, with the afterglow of a whiskey bottle left open for too long, 

and I almost rushed 

to please you, the 

way I knew best

and you said, stay

and I knew my place
Your fingers twiddled, and when your legs 

opened wider, it swallowed them whole

and you said, now show me what that 

does to you, show me

how it makes you mad

it was as if, I had been waiting for this, 

the way kids wait to be rebuked 

by their favourite teacher, in a moment

I was the cloud waiting to break

and my moans were the thunder

which kept getting louder, the fiercer

my hands stroked, the closer I came 

to breaking into rain, and flowing into you
You just sat, as if a light year away from me

watching with satisfaction, how your

gaze, could make me want to break myself

and when I couldn’t take it anymore, 

your eyes softened
You took me in your hands, and I 

screamed out your name, loud enough

for the neighbors to create rumors,

about men who shout into an abyss

and you said, yes, 

break- come – show me how you flow

and like the abyss it echoes in my ears

and when I gushed, when your 

hands ran full, with froth 
we kissed, the way an abyss, calls to men

the way, men rush into the abyss,

seeking shelter from the sun

Terrible sexts for lonely nights #1.

​Getting drunk does things to you, you

said, it makes you want to fly, and 

in the urgency for flight, you hold 

my hand,  as if holding onto you

will make me sprout wings too, 

I don’t protest, feeling your

cold fingers around my wrist
you whisper into my ears

it was your words on mine, 

it could just as easily have been, 

your slippery tongue on mine

it could just as easily 

have been, 

you on me
you arch your back in a gorgeous 

curve, it helps with the 

aerodynamics of flight, you say

it could just as easily have been 

your thighs muffling 

my ears, till the only

sounds I heard was the blood 

rushing through my head, 

and the feral moans my tongue 

extracted from your throat

as I probe inside your body,

and you throw back your head

and arch your back, offering me

more of you to lick into ecstasy
your nails digs into my wrist, only 

to make sure I don’t let go, you say

it could just as easily have 

been, your  nails on my thighs

grabbing on 

while your hips 

buckle and press 

down harder 

around my face

it could have been the shuddering

of a river that breaks off from glaciers,

flowing down, to the delta of a lover’s 

hungry mouth, 

leaving dissolving salinity

as an aftertaste

on my lips

 

getting drunk does things to you,

you say, it could just as easily have been

me, doing those things to you

while you moan- gasp- bite your lips sore- shiver all over with spasms, into a hangover 

that leaves you spent, like the day

that leaves you explored, like sin