Thinking about Preetom on a Tuesday Night

"I lift my skirt for the economy"

I.

When I am seen only

by the specific needle of light

emanating from Preetom:

I wonder

II.

Preetom is an alcoholic drag

and his body resembles something coughed up

by a muggy wave

when nobody was looking.

(I don’t mean how it looks

how it looks could fill the shelves

of dreams)

but how it moves when it denies

my wincing agency. I tried hard to cough

that tuneless

song of reason from my little cave.

It’s like that time he said

have you ever fucked a flower.

And I imagined a beauty

that could disappear age.

But he imagined a force

that could make him feel

something.

I wonder what Preetom is doing

right now. He is watching anime

I wonder

what kind of animal I am

through his cracked prism:

like, he put my foot in his mouth and

like, he did not listen to my brief

tuneless song of reason and like

I was waking and torqued beneath

and like.

And like I gave a

small coin that currency

and like.

Now Tuesday night does

its thing all over me.

I made my bed to lie

on it and think of Preetom.