Thursday, February 12, 2009


Your tongue invites;
a drop of red ketchup
languishing on your lips.

The wheat bread relents
with a murmuring sigh.

Eyes closed;
you bite off a mouthful
of my qi, with barbecued paneer.

A tiny crumb sticks
to your little finger.

Chewing food;
meditating, mediating, meandering
hunger satiated,

hunger stroked.