why romanticism?

unbeknownst vacillate

under the sun’s jaws —

especially in Peshawar

every creature looks toward

the God of hunt —

to chill or to kill

for spooks, romance is an oddity of the past:

mere exaggeration —

penguins under aurora, holding hands,

or bees bending their castrated selves

(just like me)

to be liked by the queen

or dendrites like a dervish swirling

to the electric shocks caused by

hibiscus tea taste

all of it is Real*

and not real

tips of wolverine in a caged box

don’t prove the lack of jungle —

rather, it is exactly what proves

the beyond —

the majestic —

the chiselled neck of her

with sleek collarbone

let me bleed — all my love in it —

and a silver locket on it

let me rust it with my poisonous lips

please

*The Real, as per Lacan, is the world bereft of rules, codes, or any kind of system — a pure, nonsensical, non-language realm of consciousness.