Reshma Joly

My nipples had hardened to the likings of black chickpeas.
Impatience were
in his eyes and mine.
Our lips followed suit
kissing without punctuation

He dipped a finger in my moist heat;
For the burning bush convinces Moses and men alike.
He moved his mouth down my mass of flesh and mountain
The thrill of his rolling tongue, oh,
softly parting the wetness.

Tremors of gasps and thunderous pleas
swelled up the air
Heavy moaning and dirtier grunts,
coloured our movements.
And I erupted like Pompeii.

They say people sin by silence.
We did no such thing


This work has been published in Beetle Magazine's June 2020 Issue. Read the full issue here:

Illustration by Dhanashree Pimputkar

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