Lover :: Mango :: Tongue
by Kanika Ahuja
Consider aam—mango—lover tongue.
Consider aam—ordinary—lover tongue.
Consider aam aam—ordinary mango—lover tongue.
All this tongue around language makes me hungry.
Aam people. Aam house. Aam summer sky.
You slice the season into wedges and place
them on my palm. New Delhi ferments into
a pickle. Aam. We pulp the afternoon. Dry her
in the sun. Inside the aam seed, a kernel. Feel
her seam with a thumbnail until two halves part
for a spoonful of air. Fingers gentle in the tangle
of aam hairs. Aam juice dripping swiftly. Lick
my wrist until your lips sting bitter in aftermath.
Suck at the edge of my palm. Aam wrinkles.
Aam soaked in water. Aam juicy. Aam tender.
You rub aam skin on aam skin and we dissolve
in Delhi’s morning dew. Body pressed into a dimple.
Aam. Desire curved around my sticky tongue. Aam.
If only I could want something simpler. Inside
the aam seed, her kidney bean promise of life.
So much can fit in the concave hollow of
the stomach’s lining. Once you fed me a dream.
Aam belly. Aam holding. Your palm in mine. Soft.