House Cleaning Poem by Aash Ashitha

The dusty door
Spreads her legs
And welcomes her inside.
The roots of thirst
That sprang up from
The black skin.
The aroma of vintage wine
Seeping from
The forests of hair
In the armpits.
The swinging curtains
Feeling up
Dravidian buttocks.
Speed that beats down
The dust storm in the room.
The water whistles from
The gushing pipe
Now unleashed.
The coconut fibre paths
Cleared on the sides
Of the washed vessels.
The revolts by the
Wooden bangles
Smelling of the streets.
She tests the cooking
Of my burning body
By squeezing it.
Fever boils over the brink.
She releases the magic rabbits
From within my leather jacket.
The map that water traces
On the dry expanse of skin.
Borders swept away
By the rubbing of four breasts
And the march past by
The calluses that walked the villages
And the conquering battles
And the steps of rebellion
Engraved in the air

By wet strands of hair
Holding hands.
The house that comes back
After the bath now witnesses
Two strands of hair
Bathing in the sun
On the verandah
Mopped and shining.