Like Proust’s involuntarily memories
I often come back anew
A scent of flowers on a summer breeze
And I am again awash in you
As Pamuk would say
I want to visit the country of your imagination

I do not know
If you are in my dreams
Or I am living in yours

I do know
you are constant

I do know
this thin veil
this gray line
That separates time and space
And us
Is just a moment, a flash

My dawn
Your dusk
the golden hours
Those few moments
When our worlds can melt together

But the in-between-times
This absence is deafening while I wake
And lures me as I try to sleep
I don’t know what begs me to your day
But I am pulled just the same

I reach out
hoping to get a taste of you
To hear your voice
To remember your skin
To see you smile

I am burning too **** hot
Like that last day in our city
Where it was just too hot to touch you
No matter how much I wanted to

I watch your pulse rhythmically beat against your skin
as you try to sleep
As we press through the bustling traffic
Sing-song horns bleating a cacophony of sound through the saris, and passu, and dogos along this dusty road
I feel at home here finding your stillness in this chaos.
Alive for once in so many years. Among these crumbling buildings and foreign tongues
The call of adventure and intrigue a constant whisper in my ear.