It is difficult to find words for moist love
They all stop at the underside of a throat
Like a warm liquid moving like a caravan
In a desert of inside, stopping for a drink.

We have these six pets for our private love
We return from our  journeys to feed them
And resume our journeys in wind and rain.
Their throats come alive with echo sounds,
Like big dogs tugging at morning leashes.

Our pets rise early morning without the sun,
After a night of barking at a black darkness
In eerie sounds of wind and rain on the roof.
We love them enough to come back to feed 
And stroke their manes in love like our kids.

We sometimes wonder who will feed them  
When rain will intensify amid wind and gale
And we will never be able to return to feed.

(The six pets are the six passions- lust, anger, greed,  pride, infatuation, jealousy, called arishadvargas in the Hindu theology, much like the Seven Deadly Sins of Christianity)

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