Ipshita Sengupta
​​​Autumn 2017

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The Taste of Chasm Beneath my Feet

The Sunday afternoon,
Before your tongue split my lips
To make room for it inside my mouth,
I was dreaming of the sea.

How the receding waves
Leave behind a hollow under my feet.
Every time it hits me and goes back,
I sink a little deeper into the sand.

Eight seconds and six swirls of your tongue later
When you withdrew,
You left behind a familiar hollow.

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