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On the night, 17 year old (it must be said) Sharanya recited her poem:

FUEL

I traced your name in the ashes
of fires I’d once sat vigil at,
I untangled your breath from
the vineyards of Eden, my fingers
deft in their desperation.

I smelled your shadow in
the footfall of fairies,
I seduced your reflection from
where it meditated beside lakes, so
afraid of breaking their placidity.

I tackled your burden off the
shoulders of heredity,
I carved your image in smoke,
seized it and hung you about
my neck like an ornament.

I clawed off my skin to make
space for you within,
I embroidered your spirit like a
tattoo onto my flesh, my bleeding
no more than sacrament.

I heard your whisper in
the hollows of conch shells,
I followed your brilliance through
a galaxy of stars, my only fuel
my reckless desire.

 

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