He felt like a prey in a Boa's clasp,
constricted by her tight grasp and
suffocated by her intemperate emotions.
Lazing on his unclad chest, finger nails bruising
his biceps, toes restful on his arched feet,
She whined and whined to him,
"Talk to me, my love"!
"Flatter me for my brown eyes,
my unruly hair and tiny lips.
Praise the imprecise lines I form as
I dance and my imperfect posture as I walk.
Laud my nagging concern for your well being
and my subtle fragilities".
"What is in words"? he spewed.
"Nothing, nothing beyond dilutions", She said.
What is in words", she wondered,
Shall I ask the deaf, the dumb and the mute?
She knew - Words are like lizard's autotomy,
a defense; the balancing tail that is bitten off
Fearful it will become a threat.
Another tail will grow in its place.
She knew and yet she whined and whined again.
"Talk to me, my love", she whispered.