Love in chains

This love is passion that transcends all understanding.

This love is what makes her want to possess him by peeling the skin off his face, watching him bleed, patting him dry, even as she licks hungrily at the new wound.
This love is a punch on the stomach and a painful tug of the hair where the head hurts in fond memory all through the next day and she goes into labour a month early.
This love is the kind that will forgive a lost baby.
This love is the sort that will keep her coming back for that kick because through his violence he salutes her power, the fact that she exists.
This love makes him sing tunelessly and repeatedly the songs she taught him when they were children.

This love recognises the stench of her unwashed underwear and longs for proximity.
This love is the clutching of plump lips between sharp teeth and the swallowing of snores.
This love is the ripening of a cold sore in stress and the anxiety of misplaced relationships.
This love is the smack of a muscled arm on tender breasts and the heaviness of a leg laid over a pliant body.
This love embraces the triumph of satiation on white sheets soaked with blood and lubricant.

This love is the dead weight of an aroused body and a frustrated mind.
This love is uncomfortable, weird, unsanctioned, sin, even as it spreads on white sheets.
This love is demonstrative in public so she turns red and pale at the same time because it’s exciting and forbidden.
This love seduces and disgusts him with its openness, with its irrationality, with its sheer physicality.
This love will only bring ruin and damnation to families that existed before in peace and harmony.

This love is the forced intimacy of jailed inmates in an insular city.
This love screams I love you, I love you, I love you to an empty room.
This love spits I hate you, I hate you, I hate you as it is plundered.
This love stands at a window and prays in desperation for a God, any God.
This love is tragic, flawed, unhappy even as it chuckles at the unholiness of love.

This love casts roles asunder, lies about social sanction.
This love kills reason and understanding and distance.
This love starves the soul and hungers the body.
This love makes a mockery of the word ‘complicated’ so they can no longer tag each other on Facebook.
This love is secret, untold, and so quiet that it shakes mountains and uproots trees.

This love is meaningless and lonely and violent.
This love is shame and sorrow and sickness.
This love dies in passion before being consumed.
This love is war, chaos, hell, and unending life.
This love is over in hate and embarrassment even before it has begun.

This love is passion that transcends all understanding.
This is love that is relentless, cheap, free, and bound in chains.


About Bhumika's Boudoir

I love to laugh, and end up being a part of high drama and stormy emotion even when I don't pursue it. Being creative, and communicating with people get me going. I enjoy all the good things in life especially those that are slightly risque, and apologise little, if ever, for all that I do. Literature is a passion and so is music.
This entry was posted in Idle Thoughts, Intoxication Induced. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Love in chains

  1. kanchan1809 says:

    Goodness! That must be the most beautiful poetry I’ve read in a while! I might not know that love, but I know it-if that makes any sense. It’s palpable, Bhumika… And with a life of it’s own! X


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