I was partial to you not knowing,
That you and I, would surrender to
Make us gods of bed manners,

And we seemed, only to entertain,
The practice of valuation of contact
And appreciation of taste or flavor,

The rocket science of feelings,
It tells you, let her climb the mountain,
Slowly, pacing along, the footpaths,

Love, it calls for an extra canister of oxygen
That you exhale on her, from her lips,
To her buttocks, combing the keratin blades,

And together, you’re just added on,
The droll of biochemical manifestation,
From protein to singularity, substrate to catalysis,

I am, you are, we will, to the etiquette,
Of designing an architectural wonder,
A temple that drives the chosen pilgrim

An interface, as strong as palms in prayer,
That anoints with sweat and makes-musk driven
Culinary dishes, into a wrestle of mad angles,

That can only simulate flying, without lift off,
Like how an ostrich proudly displays her plumage in dance.
We too gloat on how many times

We’ve killed a different species of bird.
Just to become a taxidermist by ritual,
Hanging mementos on an invisible wall

And dead creatures, they seem to come alive on the wall,
Especially at the dead heat of the night,
When you’re lying all alone in bed

When parrots are vocabularic, ostriches are dance-prone,
Song birds are hummers, and the magpies, are just
Scampering on your body; almost an aviary now.

And one day, you will open
The aviary door and let all the birds fly out.
While two feet walk into your home

You will not call her a bird of any nature.
When you will get to know, there’s a beautiful
World out there, beyond ornithology

A person who will never be a bird,
Only a birdbrain, who will fall for your lowest
Your “in spite of” and learn that love

Is aiming for the lowest, the dungeon,
And discovering the boundless wealth,
That exists on top.

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