implicit intimacy

a poem about this surreal, vague sense of affection i recurrently experience, the kind that makes one go insane

when your pinkie encircles the hoop of my jhimki
feeling gently around every ridge
my skin sprouts shy goosebumps
i’m unsure if that’s an effect of the titillating desire
or this city in december

it’s in all of those implicit touches
that you convey intimacy
i’m learning—
my go to was simple and amateur
drawing invisible rings on your knuckles

your eyes aim at the spot between my eyebrows
your gaze both sharp as a bullet between my eyes and as graceful as a gopi pottu
look at me more
like i’m the object of all your quiet wants
the whisper that grasps at you when your sleep is interrupted

don’t let your fixation sway like my dupatta in the wind 
keep looking at me how you do, like i'm a problem that's hard to solve, a case you need to investigate
let this tension grow 
strike the match of passion on one humid afternoon in june 
do what you’ve been meaning to.

or go, go like they all do eventually
 walk past and smile and wave in the sweet, isolated way you reserve solely for me 
hug me goodbye like you do with all the other girls
 when our eyes rise up and meet each other, flickering with hope
you’ll know, i’ll know, they’ll all know.
you’ll remember the smoothness of my hair, the gentle sway of my hips, the sparkle of my nose ring,
and continue to brush it away
implicitly, silently, subtly

no choice to rest, with nothing but the consolation that we can feel each others touch somehow, someday
in dreams, 
 the dozens of memories,
perhaps even in the deadly descent after life.