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.
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."


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

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

    ❤Not Just My Allegories❤

  3. Nothing less, nothing other.

    I loved reading this!

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