Love Has Rendered Me Senseless


You think I exaggerate — a conceit,
a thoughtless phrase.


My sight is useless. At night, wrapped
in a blanket cocoon, eyes
tight closed, his eyes still bright
before me, plainly visible.


Ears fail me. What I hear
is sweeter than angelsong,
tender as new leaf,
sun kisses.


And touch — oh, do not speak
of touch. My skin against his
is holy, an incandescent flame,
an incoherence of desire,
thought extinguished.


His scent — rain in winter;
woodsmoke, rust and ice.
Nothing human.


Speech is worst of all. Listen
to me now; my words are stolen
away, and all I can say
is love.


Love has rendered me senseless.



M.A. Mohanraj
November 16, 1997
(for David, with thanks
to Roshani for the conceit)