After all, we wouldn’t be here
waiting for night to arrive,
had you not one day
out of the blue
swung a leg over
and straddled me, holding
my shoulders like the backrest
of a chair on the stage
of a play about us.

I remember
a frilled corolla,
the fetish odour
of your smell.

As we watch the moon
Vishnu, who fondles everything
and is fond of things, lowers it
to this spot where I'm knowing you.

Standing now in delight afterwards
I recall how the day we met it rained,
fell,
choked earth with water
and cooked hills with steam,
enough for us to be afraid
nature was bypassing
the gods to let rivers
burst into new monsoons.