The Desire-Pleasure Paradox

Give me petrichor—

that sacred hush of earth after rain,

a language older than memory.

I want mangoes so ripe they shame napkins,

juice running down my arms,

pulp clinging to the corners of my mouth.

Give me Ollie’s apricot fur beneath my palm,

his heartbeat steady against my cheek,

drag queen lashes curled like secrets,

trusting sleep heavy on my legs.

I want the silk of my daughter’s hair

slipping through my fingers like time,

how she once called “Mama?” into the dark,

just to know I was still there.

Give me jalebis—

those sweet spirals of rebellion,

each bite a dance with gluten

my body rejects but my soul still craves.

I want the chai simmering cardamom-heavy,

its milky warmth a price I’ll gladly pay

in exchange for that moment of perfect comfort.

Give me the hunger that lingers,

the memories that drip like honey from a spoon,

the joy I didn’t think I could claim.

I want what’s too much,

what’s just enough,

what whispers: I’m still here.

And let me end—

glazed, glowing, unashamed

having lived this messy middle.

My parents having a good laugh as I eat mangoes at a beach park in Kauai. I was trying to save my new swimsuit from the juice running down my chin and arms. 13 years later, I know better than to save my clothes. I’d rather savor the mango :)