my dad transmitted sexual knowledge subtly
he flips within a small set of Sunday morning offerings: the Indo-Can variety shows & big-tent tevangelies, the pageantry & pieties.
and then, o man, we SEE her—
a VOLUPTUOUS ERUPTION—
an undulating houri in her pure white vid-space—
a naacha kuri, top-notch, DAMN!
her eyes smeared in surma for a coy erotic semaphore.
flesh seen in flash-cuts, the key exposures working down from neck to navel, back of knee to instep.
a Trio sing her excellence, one arm out to call her in, one upon their heaving chest.
and what could mean this chorus-chant—lakka tera, lakka tera / DHOOM dakka-dakka? my Father-tongue i know enough to know they mean your something—
tell me, Father, what could mean this lakka?
his gentle Exegesis is in-progress, from below. i'm pulling answers, still, from his smile.
the Song, indeed the whole folk exuberance—is for this!
the English, it reduces it; there's something else, subtle—just a mem of it, perhaps.
it’s cute how much they like it, and
it is cute, her waist. you're asking how you got here, so i'm giving you your Story—reductive, yes, & funny—this scoop of flesh drew me to your mother.
you too will like it, yet you’ll always have some distance on it: quarantined by inset, italic-slanted irony—your style shall continue this, our Scene’s own structure: you'll complicate the melody, you’ll think it into bits.
the pitch of your desire, it shall rise into a question re the meaning of it.
what lingers in his smile, in the glow of my remembrance! he shines upon me typing this: my list affirms his prophecy i’d write it out, i’d query it! he saw our friendly Scene & saw my later script in Unity, a Writer's spreading Present—
he saw it all & spoke it from a purview of Eternity!