purity

by Rumit Pancholi

he lay there on the bed,
a slender wet body
like an elongated S, sweaty &
silky, like linen left in the singing rain;
his cold sleeping eyes
curled into the pillow he held on
like death, tight & unrelenting—

i touched his gorgeous face
and a shiver hung on my shoulder
flying, falling like a tidal wave
washing away a beach dirty & dark,
and pressed him into the bed,
hoping he would disappear
so the beach is white
again.