Kavi Kshiraj
Car-Crash Impulse
breath shakes in my throat, the dust-mouthed
dark airless. it’s not a suicide if I push the knife
between someone else’s hands. this is not a
love letter, but take me apart; slip into the lamp-
limned lines of my skin and stain your fingers
against white bone. our syllables are vertebrae
linked together. the stars tremble, bridged to a cracked
landscape, and I touch your face, and I tell you
about the weapons underneath my bedframe
as the sky falls. you open my skull with soft hands.
Biography
Kavi Kshiraj (they/them) is a queer, Indo-American poet found in New Jersey. They spend time on hobbies such as writing, Greek mythology, and their various identity crises. Find them on Twitter & Instagram @klytaimestra and on Tumblr @kavikshiraj
