When a man tells you that your body is poetry, that he could shape it with his tongue forever, hold it between his breaths like a prayer, you bleach your skin into vellum, you turn your blood into ink, your mouth into a metaphor. Your spine is a narrative of heartbreak. You make yourself available to the collective. You float on the wireless, weightless and … [Read more...]
Indian Review | Authors and Literature | Adharshila Chatterjee writes on Indian Review.