Perhaps it was,
The emptiness
Of a room
That shrouded
The callous body
Or the posters
That exhibited nudity
Pasted
With precise longing
Or the secret stash
Of apparatuses
That screamed
Pleasure
At midnight
Or the erotica
That lay
Sprawled
On the floor,
Open and inviting,
Or the DVDs
That painted
The room
Blue and white,
In their immodest halo
Or maybe
It was just the heart,
That craved
To be shameless,
While caged
In a cavernous cave
Shrieking profanities
Under breath,
Body that responded
To sparks
Of desire, or just
The thought
That there is no demon
That condemns
Girls with fingers down
Their knickers.
Maybe, it was all
Of the above.
That could explain
Her own wet stains.
-Suchi Pragyan Rout
