Garnish

Anger, coriander, love,

What is each but garnish?

Only the tangible survives-

The smells, the tastes, and-

Oh.

The tactile memory.

So fresh in the greasy night,

With half-a-foot's distance

That insulates the heat…

Next to a biriyani stall-

He, she and well lubricated morsels

Of carb-energy,

Feeding seven screeching children in their body.

Impatience hisses, grows, and bursts at the seams.

Quick! Hasten! Run!

The last pairs of jeans will do

What they were created to do.

"Oh, honey! Oh, honey! Oh!"

XXX -Y?

Garnish, they garnish their love.

Flavoured air dances

Here and there-

The tango begins

With tangerine twists of Russian ethanol

Travelling to places

With the rub of

Un-flat bellies.

They satin for each other,

Nails playing different chords,

Teeth whistling in saline hot-springs,

As the prickle sizzling, wandering, shocking

Cloaks them in one swift movement

Plunging them in blank darkness

Putting out all lights but their eyes.

Their eyes.

Glances, touches, whispers-

What is each but Garnish?