" I remember being in the mood for love at the slightest provocation- your nubile body feeling undeniably illicit, under mine, rhyming, heaving, breathing together, each other, squirrel hands, down and across and stolen kisses, on and not on the lips. Then leaving scorching beds the color of the red desert sun and strawberry flavored. Your mysterious skin, salt lips: touching, each other. My libido, your mascara- getting all messed up in those rains, realizing for the first time that lust gnaws had no language, race, religion or brotherhood.’
('Left from Dhakeshwari') "

― Kunal Sen