In the night, a dream creases you on me
like the unfolding bird in a suspended
storm on a bending tree.
You brush beside me,
the caress feathering my back.
I smell of spices,
sweat and the first rain
in a scorched Indian summer.
You look at my mouth
tracing your nipples
and this merging of
souls in unfamiliar grounds…
– Dr. Amitabh Mitra
May 29, 2005