You hold me and say
“You are my bulb”.
Let us make light then
And those that touch us
Let them be burnt like hell.
In touching give a spark,
The heated tungsten, on a
Fragile filament quivers like a heart
Making love (or light) till
We collapse apart.
And then, the scene shifts back to reality:
We’re caught in a fit of ungoverned frenzy
And are kissing like mad as if in any impending second
The world will have a stroke, collapse and end.
You’re my CFL.
And I? “You’re my
Ceylon Electricity Board”.
Released from that energy-sapping all-draining power
I am also called by a company that runs at a loss.