Prem Sylvester

When I Think of Touch

I cannot imagine   this body holding anyone    but itself
Looking for crystal  you find gelatin   lavender with blush
moonflesh   that carries the undoing of pebbles    I hold
rosebuds between my teeth  the saccharine of body
turns to salt on my enamel  Remember when you wrapped
my ears around your blooming  Beneath the arched
constellations I  gave you my tremors  You brought goose
flesh to my tongue  Feathering  I don't know my way
above you  I don't know my way around   myself  Swollen
ghosts spread over my exegesis  A body  is only a body
in the moment we  recognize it is more than patina
more than  sweat  Pulled meat roasted under a broken sun
Raked ashes in pits churning  under the sheets  I volunteer
plum seeds  in exchange for walnuts  and alchemical denudity
When we are together  you are assurance you are  puffin down
When we pull away my veins are stygian  When you ask
what we are missing  I tell you it is me  How do I give you
what was never mine?  In your heaving delta, I am unrecognized


Prem Sylvester is a writer from India who turns into words the ideas he catches a whiff of from time to time. Sometimes people read these words. His work has appeared in Homology Lit, Parentheses Journal, Rabid Oak, Turnpike Magazine, Rising Phoenix Review and Memoir Mixtapes, among other homes.