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Infidel

Eccentric as it could get, the yearning of warmth from a body, to rekindle the joyous euphony of desires only to be lost in the symphony of your heart beat. I rise as the Phoenix from the ashes of your studded lustrous eyes, calling my name after 9pm at night. I fear not walk the halls to your office, which harbours your wife’s picture, I see no photo frame, since I ravaged on that table. Is it the chemistry of the endearing youthfulness, do you long to be taken by my younger vixens. I rather not look you in the eye as I walk past you in the hallway, the students you talking to might notice you longing for my essence. 


It was not love, as you called it affection. “Affection”, you say, what looked to me like an obvious rekindle. You crave the euphoria, eight years of marriage and yet you feel the fear, fear to explore your long wasted youth on your mediocre midwife, who I laid in my bed while you dreamed about our frugal encounter. I know you explored through my inches as you read through my essay. Let alone you must have desired to feel the silky smooth texture as your fingertips maped through my skin. Don’t consider this my defiance, I merely enjoy your desperation, the thirst and lust echoes in your eyes, as you wish to drown me into your sexual covet. What would it be then, your falsity to exists or your desire to devour it with my elegance.  

Pritha Krishna

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