The real deal is this friggin urge to
deal with your thoughts
that I am unable to deal with.

My neck itches like a cranky thron
as if thousands of worms swopped in.
Blemishing my skin, ruining my facade.

As I was sober for the sake of reality
now stress eating took over my brain
crawling in the suit of midnight brownies.

Is this some sort of sexual tension or
an intense craving for emotional cuddle?
Maybe something that stand between them.

Whatever but let me tell you about my loyalty
thinking about you is as pure as being clueless.
Its you who looked over my shoulder not lips.

If you haven't had your baby girl in your arms
Would you do me the way you do your poetry?
Should I explain how?

Drawing inspiration, picking metaphors, thinking through, attention to detail, contemplating with wet throat, intense eyes,

dorky smile, twitching the pen, looking at the blank page with adrenal rush to press the ink into its very existence and resurrect the existence as a whole new entity: a poetry.

Would you do me as a real deal?
Until I become one for you.
A friggin real deal!

© Sonali Ghosh