in a budget hotel in Madurai

from two a.m.
until six in the morning
you chuck your guts up, seven
or eight times
until you're
empty

you sit naked on the tiled floor
amongst your insides,
I drag myself out
of REM sleep
to pour you salty-sweet mixes
you can't even
stomach --
I pour four, three
end up outside of you

I wear my jandals in the bathroom
I wash my hands compulsively
I label our drink bottles
I kiss you only on the cheek --

and somehow you still look beautiful,
somehow I love you more.