diamonds are your eyes as they burn
me inside out in rage and
rage and walk in silence along
Park Street, Calcutta
into an evening that is raining and
dark and cool like
your eyes
like your fire that lash me now and
again like the rains
like being in your arms nestled
in the fragrances of a woman
possessed like diamonds, expensive
like diamonds and
having edges to her laughter
that are sharp ever so like
diamonds that can only burn and
can never cry like
the angry, desolate streets
of Calcutta