Radha, her father’s demise

You are from my class:
Your grandmother hauled sand on the beach
My father’s uncle massaged foreign-skinned women
And touched his groin with the free hand.
Your father broke away from the Folk,
He saved education and favours
And made enough money to make a life,
And wedded the class he had not,
When he bedded your mother that night.

What slid through the wet walls of your mother
Is the emancipated shaft of a low class,
Made big by money and status. The boy
Whose father plucked and threw the
Coconuts down from the crowned trees
Fed on your mother’s classed coconuts,
Making her come – impregnating her with new seed.

And today, three decades and two children later,
He goes to the cemetery on VIP shoulders.
You are in your funeral clothing and
Your grief has made you distraught and tired
That it adds to your voluptuousness
Making me want you more and more.
You give me orders to run errands as
The class status your father had made your birthright
Has taught you to do.

You, the grand daughter of a sand hauler of
My village, my class —
Very soon I will take you to the
Coldness of the storeroom where
One by one the guises you have been trained to take for granted
Must be slowly shunned —
Where the fragrance of your skin,
Anointed by powders too real for softness
Should be sucked off your golden skin.
Where, in the emptiness of a reverberating hollow,
Dumbed and dazed by the shock of an unfamiliar warmness,
You must be entered and fucked long, out and in.

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Kishani, first time with

First time we fucked, in your
Thick-curtained, blinds-drawn room,
I made myself lose to the streams of vodka
From within which you murmured, “Harder, my love”,

Eyes closed, cheeks flushed,
Hair undone in a fashionless mass,
And I rammed you with all my gut, for
You were a dolled bitch from another class.
Each hit, I could feel, brushing hard against wet walls,
Going deep into the slime, in search of your edge.

Later, you mounted me, and treated me with
Such tenderness — like a lost soul trying to surface
From an abyss into which she had fallen; trying to
Re-live a sentiment long unused, and corroded:
Like a desperate act to learn the male body how to touch.
You traced your wet tongue down the center of my body,
Slid your mouth around my cock; where I felt you twitch.

As we finally lay back, two-two and half hours later,
The taste of your tongue and pussy
Indistinguishable in my mouth, you sighed,
Rolled off bed and walked naked to the bath,
Your massive haunches swinging in disdain,
A dimple in your left ass, and with no word to my
Still hungry self.

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