Nisha Bhakoo

I’ll leave you where I found you

I’m trying to call your name but scamp fritter, I got it all wrong

I couldn’t trickle you down, gothic peach, you are black

with make-up. And I’m finding it hard, to find your name

without risking a bottle of hairless wishes.

I wish I had the nerve to shout out loud but I whisper.

In an accent, maybe it belongs to you? Celestial waste, I know

you hate it when I say it backwards, but I’m finding it hard to

speak straight. I half my vowels, I cough out the nouns

I speak in norms and give you nothing – it’s nothing or gold

that’s how I work, I confess: I fell for you once

but I read the poison on your lips – my name

you sucked on it like chicken bones

your name, I never caught it

so I can’t call you to me

© Nisha Bhakoo 

 

Hard pretty

Planet pears to multi-

vitamin, a juicy chunk

didn’t make it to magic.

Hard pretty, a touch

of tough/

blushing green in

olive spit/

I chew to

–take in–

redcurrant

a romance of pins

but to the eye—

Turkish delight

a deeper rose

than valentine

© Nisha Bhakoo