Out of the foam flecked womb, I sprawled on reed mats, an orphan son — And the low tide rose, monstrous, gloaming, engorged. For some dubious wrong, birch bark snapped against my tender palms — And charcoal clouds splayed across a winter sky, drenching turgid rage. In the unlit altar, my unseen lips brush his unseen chest, spread his saffron robes, — And bolts of sun ran wet the hoary rime, dragged blossoms into spring. But I was found out, stolen away into ancient chambers, — Caged by honeyed cake and palm-wine and smoke-wrapped delirium. Forever moored to the shore of summer's bliss — Dreaming of unseen flesh, caged in saffron.
Naru Dames Sundar has published fiction and poetry in Strange Horizons, Liminality, Nature:Futures and several other publications. He lives in Northern California amongst the redwoods and the hills. You can follow him on twitter at @naru_sundar, and on his blog at http://www.shardofstar.info