Almost a violet pearl between branches—
Radiant in an indigo sky--
Like a Taaffeite gemstone, rare in its brief glow,
A gift to the earth, while it lasts,
As Bizet’s aria Je crois entendre encore
Kisses the cool night air,
Before dissolving into dawn.

My clothes are unclean,
My hair is messy,
My nails are uncut—you can see.
I know I was never an apple of your eye, never part of your tree.

But now my clothes are clean,
And I have learned to do some laundry.
My hair is *******, but sometimes, I let it be free.
You have started telling me I have become an apple of your eye,
And now a part of your tree.

All I wanted to say to you is—
Let me be. Let me be me...

The warmth of your breath against my neck,
your beard as it caresses my cheek,
your eyes as they meet my lips,
your fingers twirling a strand of my hair,
the letters of my name tip toeing off your tongue,
they demand my heart to burst in love with you.