I'm still waiting for you to kiss me
With those crimson lips so smooth.
And I'm still waiting for us to be alone
When the pain in your bright eyes can be soothed.

I'm still waiting for you to get help
For the carmine rivers that you trace.
And I'm still waiting for a reason why
You broke the promise you put in place.

I'm still waiting for my head to stop spinning
The rose hairclip means I see you down the hall.
And I'm still waiting to tell when my stomach flips
If it's good or not at all.

I'm still waiting for my logic to return
But love gives an alazarin tint to every drama.
And I'm still waiting for a chance to talk to you
But I seem to have bad karma.

I'm still waiting for that hug you owe me
My ruby hair shoelace flopping in my eyes
And I'm still waiting to be the tall one of the pair
As I try to move on, part of me dies.

I'm still waiting for that movie date we planned
And the ketchup coloured earring you wear in the left ear
And I'm still waiting to dance and twirl you round
In my arms I could hold you near.

I'm still waiting for when you blush
Vermillion as insults are thrown across the street
And I'm still waiting for the chance to set that right
Remmembering you defending me in the stifling heat.

I'm still waiting for the time to tell you
How much you're in my thoughts
And I'm still waiting for your birthday so I can gift
The cadmium sketchbook that I bought

I'm still waiting for the coral pain to stop in my heart
It's there for you, of that I have no doubt
And I'm still waiting for the laughter to return
To my life when we sort this out

I'm still waiting for the trip to the coast
The bergundy viking boat alight
And I'm still waiting for what will never be
But then again, it might.

Love doesn’t ask much;
She knew she doesn’t have to.

Love knew that though he was breaking her heart,
He was protecting her in the meanest and kindest way possible.

Love knew that a hard labor can only buy her a pair of hairclip;
So she let her hair down instead.

Love knew pain like her best friend;
yet, love also knows forgiveness.

Love knew life was hard already
So she held his hand and never let him go.

I sit there,
laptop in my lap,
after a full day of Visual Imagery,
about to give up on writing a poem,
irony with her delightful tongue-in-cheek sense of humour
looks at me from the space between half-closed door,
and Baba, sitting beside me
picks up the hairclip before him,
puts it in his hair,
and smiles the most sincere smile
at my sheer inability to write a poem
seriously.