to my dearest amit

this is about amit. from a suitable boy

---

although my sight
missed your figure
in patna's lively air, i'm
torrid by your allure

among the uncouthed
mass, your refinement
in your words, your soul i
take as heaven-sent

a stroll through calcutta
my little amit lives around!
i can be more than austen, a
torrent, a love without bounds

amit, oh dear amit
my heart seethes
into that english wretch
that hurt your soul

and i could never
met with a mind as yours
idle as your lover
to take away to a english moor