Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Hemingway limit.

For you -
Whose life revolves around
a city without rain,
and three overused alphabets.
And whom
I know only through
three and a half chance meetings, and
onesixty characters, sometimes less.

I don't want to be one
of your pretentious sonnets.
Nor
the poems you quote during a friendly banter
with a glass of neat rum in your hand.

I want to be the half-lit cigarette
between your fingers,
I want to be that ancient city whose
cha, charms and gullies
have entrapped you.

I want to be something secret and precious
that you wait until after midnight
to tear open.

---------------
Title courtesy The Alchemy of Desire (Tarun Tejpal, 2005, p. 64): "We had read somewhere that Hemingway believed every person in their lifetime had a finite number of orgasms given unto them - therefore, they needed to be rationed ... soon the threat of the Hemingway limit faded."

4 comments:

  1. weird sense of melancholy...almost makes one want to lose one's self.

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  2. This is so strong and beautiful!! I wanna copy paste this as my fb status!!

    ❤Not Just My Allegories❤

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  3. Nothing less, nothing other.

    I loved reading this!

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  4. I don't know if you meant it to be so, but this is pretty erotic. The last bit especially - beautifulstuff.

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