I Will Meet You Post-Quarantine
A kiss for the side of your neck
One for the last of your back
For a year that we couldn’t meet
I will meet you in December
And warm up the year-long winter
Digital ropes on your white wrists
Each moan like expensive porcelain crashing on slippery marble
I will clothe your body in verses
Who cares if we look like torn poetry books or worse
I want to lead you to the edge of the page
And push you only halfway.
It’s a known fact I fancy longing in some way. Just because you can’t touch them yet, doesn’t mean you can’t touch them now. Through charged screens and panting network, we all gamble for attention. Sexting always feels to me like a contagious mood that floats online and sometimes offline. You know it was good when you let the heat stretch itself
for some more days. I carry the dying flames of a night to my work, at family dinner or a quiet evening at the lake. A soft melting marshmallow that I can’t yet gulp.
I like how people resist the wait that has to hustle daily chores and different timelines. The wordplay is as real as it can get. I would lie if I say I am not good at conversation. Isn’t it absolutely thrilling to have a sentence crafted by you that could send ripples of emotion through distance? A space where lovemaking would know no maps.
And yes nothing compensates for the real adrenaline push that comes with the friction of skins. But testing my texts as I type out playful verses leading to curling toes and yearning moans is a whole new powerplay. Cyber can be quite Hyper.
Aishwarya Shrivastav is a journalist based out of Bhopal, reporting on gender, mental health, culture, and social issues. Her articles have been published in Times of India, TheWire, Citizen. Her poems have been featured in Coldnoon magazine, Ladies only, Alipore Post, Kommune, HongKong Voice and Verse Magazine, Airplane poetry movement, and others. She likes to read everything about emotions, pleasure, sexuality, and archival histories of all sorts. She can be found on Instagram @cosmo_rani.