POETRY | War And Dirt by Ravneet

Meeting you is evermore like biting into a custard apple I only ever buy them once a year, after the monsoons On days which haven’t quite decided to be summer or winter yet, so I never know if I should chill the fruit or leave it out. I invariably put it in the fridge because I know I will want it when my body is flushed hot with desire I will hold it in my hands pondering for a few minutes over the impossibility of you The quilted body a green and a black, hard only in how those...

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