Most of the times,
I feel,
that you and I,
my darling,
redefine our love on
Saturday nights.

Saturday nights,
when the sound of our
heartbeats mixes with the wine.


When you swerve your hips,
to the tunes on the old gramophone.

When every streetlight seems like a shooting star.

Passionate,
wild,
mad,
in it's very essence.

Chaotic,
extraordinary
and beautiful,
define you,
my love.

You breathtakingly
naked and beautiful soul,
is the gateway to the Universe.

Swooning and high off
your fragrance,
all I want to do is
make love with you,
till the yearning moon
gives way to the jealous sun.

I don’t know why.
I had you pinned to the bed
and you were finally gonna let me
kiss you. I wanted it to be perfect
so I got up to turn off the TV or
light a candle and I don’t know
what happened but I still haven’t
kissed you and you got married
in April.

The way you looked
at me: ***** and smug,
I haven’t seen anything like it
in years. I’ve subsisted on fumes.
It’s not easy concocting that
in a woman.
I tried to kiss you once before.
We sat on my porch.
You stroked my
hair. I leaned in.
You ducked out of the way
quicker than if I'd
thrown a fastball at your head.

You went back home to the South.
I commemorated my survival
by putting a black X through
each day on the calendar.
Love was finally going to happen to me.
Every day I was getting closer,
or further away,
I'm still not sure which.

I had a lot of dreams about you then.
I wanted them. If I couldn't
have you during the day, I’d make you
visit me in the night.
Once you were wearing
a sweater that gleamed like snow,
my lips touched yours like a bow
on a violin string.
We were both looking for clues,
for God or Fate to tell us what to do.
You crashed your car after you told me
on the phone your friends thought
we should be together forever.
You stopped talking to me after that.
I cried for three days and nights,
but I felt like I should've cried longer.
Tears came all the way from
the tips of my fingers,
the soles of my feet.
That grief was the last time
I knew how to use every part of myself.

I saw you next in a bowling alley.
There was some other guy
you were getting attention from.
He wasn't your boyfriend either.
You were so nice to me
that I knew it was over.
I wondered what God was trying
to tell me and decided He was
******* with me (a bowling alley!)
so I stopped listening altogether.

I haven’t had as much love
(or, more likely, ***)
in my life as I planned on.
I’ve withheld reservoirs,
waiting for the right girl,
my energy going into work,
leaking away in various diversions.
Meanwhile, she’s yet to show up.
It’s a hobby of mine,
entertaining suspicions
that she might’ve been you.

Once I sent you a message
saying I’d do anything
to make love to you.
That’s not exactly true,
but that doesn’t make it
a lie either.

I had a dream about you.
Someday my kiss
will land on your lips.

To wage a war was the simplest solution
The painful proximity wasn't an option
I meant it when I said often -
“I have to go away and vanish somewhere”
That uncanny silence and the blank stare.

The few scars that you gave me
I washed them off with your blood
Your words pierced like needles
My actions were a walk on swords
A friendship hence cursed by the lords.

You often tested my patience
I wish you’d never tested my rage
You shouldn't have breached my conscience
I hardened my soul and kept the fury within
I knew the end was near and none would win.

I lost you and you lost the friend
My sorrow remains for you stay with the foes
I was never the enemy for you took me for one
I bid you goodbye and hope I see you not again
The painful proximity was never ever sane.

We are running.
Hearts beating faster, sweat running down my forehead, your hand and the moon my guide.
We are strange.
Why don’t we mould patterns, movements and air with our lips and words. Together we are unpredictable and everything and anything seems possible.
We are destructive.
Lost aimlessly wandering, swept away under this drug. Drunk off your sent and the way your eyes stare into mine.
We are addicted.
Our breath is our muse, touching nature and praying for something beautiful. Two half's of a whole, cliched but true.
We are extraordinary.
And it could all end, as it began, with a metaphor and some words.
But, we are terminal.
For now at least let me stay here, and wonder if we could control waves or the moon. Take my hand, and we can.
We are running.