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