a poem by Alo Shome

I swish through
The folds of your sari
And cradle the cup
Of your blouse
I touch your naval.
I finger
The arch of your lips
And kiss your smile.
I cling to you
Like taut skin.
I trace
Your eye-brows,
Tousle your hair,
Shine through
The polish of your toe-nails,
In the wicker
Of your eye-lashes
And freeze
In your bindi.

Now, comes the baffling moment.
The time of reckoning.
The crisis of identity.

Who am I?
Am I only your outline,
As thin
As the surface-tension
Of a dew-drop?