Where's the love, hidden in this scratching pencil, locked in my fingertips, cheating slumber?

What does the night weave, just when the peacocks scream- love? The nightly amber?

But what does love make us, in those telephonic beeps' exodus- eternal or ephemeral?

When lovers die, love does cry- sue that love which smells only the animal !!

That love is shy, holding 'you' as 'mine', under the shadows of your " candle-light" !

You feel that love , being far apart, upon bedsheet creases , on a teary night!

That love is stealthy, and kisses gently, while memories twinkle in the nightly sky !

That love does whisper, sounds of laughter, in evening breezes , where the wings fly!

Yes, that love is heavy, when you levy, a smile to hide your tears-

But it will catch you, beyond your logical hue , and free death's dominion fears !

That love strikes once, but life mimicks its dance, as we long for it !

So , keep it preserved, don't witch or wizard, in your ostensible fleshy animal outfit.

Hence, when I breathe , this mundane air, where survival of the fittest is bred-

My sonnet cares, to love you my love, even years after we are dead !!

- Arghyadip❤️❤️