City Drive

You say the cars seem to float among invisible gray whales, a sheet of slippery sea beneath our peddling feet

The body of the city is lit, red balls of yarns in the queen's closet As if beckoning closure, awaiting a larger moment

The body of the city unfettered beneath the moon, a pan of milk in an untidy sky

Your skin, gathered similarly into a gasp beneath that one dimple, the one that sits, a monk in sycamore trees

Your body– close, knotted, a forest, entering and leaving me in places uncountable A touch that doesn't fit into any language A touch, both earth and fire

You say the cars float above an invisible sea Your frame, passionate in its composition, reaffirming my sentence by its very presence

You say the cars float above an invisible sea

Your breath, an inexhaustible joy,

Your body, an entire city I seek

Our eyes– like whales in an invisible sea

Aakriti Kuntal, aged 26, is a poet and writer from India. Her work has been featured in many literary magazines and newspapers including The Hindu, Madras Courier, Pangolin Review and Visual Verse among others. She was a finalist for the RL Poetry award 2018.