Winter is still just
polishing its fangs,
and here my blood is
icing up into pain.
I could’ve begged the
neem tree to swallow me
whole, instead I have
bucketed its boiling emerald
The tongue finds bitter
what is sweet for the body
Neem water reaches where
his fingertips can't and
a medical orgasm explodes.
All my smells gather, travel
to my long distance lover
faster than an overnight train.
He misses how his palms
caught fire after a massage
with oil in which two garlic
cloves swam. My shoulders
concaved with surprise at
this origami of love. So if I
can’t bathe with him,
I’ll design neem teabags
by the dozen I'll throw
them in the growling water
until the neighbours and
their cats find out how I
relieve my body ache this winter.
Like a class-teacher scouting
for children at the end of a picnic,
I fish out the remaining
neem leaves into my palms.
As I kiss them in gratitude
they smell like they can cure
hundred more pained bodies.