Some seven months down the road
Your thought would be an afterthought.

You would be like the morning haze when my eyes are
Wide open and my comprehension is lacking.

But for now, you are the every thought which
Shadow my most vulnerable encounters
With this thing we like to call affection.

I have been out of touch
With the ways of our sentimental misconception of life
And my faithless love affair with your notion
Of perfection.

I revel in my self-inflicted misery as if
It was my most polished skill.

But when you start gazing down my throat
I lose all the will and all the power and I’m nothing
But a vessel for your sanctioned whims.

It’s within your whims that,
I feel like I've never felt before.

And when you gaze right through me
I begin to wonder if there is an equation
I still need to learn.

But when you have lost touch
With the simple nuances of romance,
It’s really **** hard to catch up.

you were the Christmas everyone regrets
those mornings of madness when you get what you didn't guess
and it remains forever ingrained on your brain,
that Christmas you want to forget.

you gave me a kiss without a contract or hiss
near the bikes locked up by the laundrette hut
and it remains forever ingrained in my brain
that you'll be the only kiss on the only list that ever matters to me.

you're reduced to whispers now; a holy scripture:
that woman in our conversation who we shouldn't mention,
but you'll remain forever ingrained as the main character in my brain:
that  woman of whispers.

*So I'll see you around and I'll see you in those pictures