By Vidya Panicker

when the obnoxious form
of our fair master slithers over me,
i bite my bloody lips,
so the lash welts on my man’s bare
brown back are less red

my man lovingly moves his calloused palms
over the blue-back nail and bite marks
on my breasts and thighs,
smiles colorlessly

and disregards
that 2 of our 3 children
are pink as water apples,
their eyes the color of boiling amber




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