At the bay

We were moments then.
Moments that had happened, or that can
never happen again. Obscured always by
alluring lashes you cannot resist, other
lips you feel a perpetual need to kiss.

And I am always in a hammock at the bay,
a weekend that you decided would be
the perfect distraction.
You laid me below the lifeguard stand,
and promised that I would not get sun-
burnt. Then you gnawed at me, slowly.
I guess I was a line you threw out, a route
to something beyond the wooden dock
you were anchored at. I was the sweet-water
fish you caught, the one whose skeleton
you slid out, swift, a lick and then
you threw me out to the summer
vultures.


Natasha Japanwala

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