A south Asian woman
The kind that is not desi or masala
And is found south of Adam’s bridge
Possessing mahogany skin and ebony irises
Is a canvas of two colors
Brown, the kind that is tanned
And shaded by the saturation of melanin
And black, the type that is finely concealed
Beneath oversized pull-up bras
– Where two succulent breasts radiate
As concentric rings of brown sugar
Surrounding a pith of molasses –
And underneath granny-panties
Where a black orchid seemingly blossoms
As petals of dark licorice

The beauty of a woman in Serendib
Like any grown man knows
Lies in her darkened borderlands and dappled centers
– The flower petals and the polka dots
And if you heat all her right places with a little bit of passion
Treacle droplets will slowly rise
Like dew from a melting mold of jaggery
After all there is nothing remotely strange
About a Sri Lankan woman lying on her back
With her head comfortably placed on a pillow
Sweetening her man’s tongue.


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