He told her in a whisper that he Doesn't need her mind,
Her mind had all the impenetrable corners,
She knew.
He knew.
The twilight of her
Unconscious, confused him.
He got lost in the distorted vision
She held in her mind,
Maybe that's why she thought
The colour blue had a syrupy
Flavour, and nights tasted like
Wine, did you know you could
Write poems about x-rays?
And pour coffee on ice trays?
The gaping abyss of endless
Possibilities was unduly terrifying,
You have to understand.
He chose to walk on the frozen Lake, tiptoeing, alert... as if he
Held a grenade;
Without having to delve deep
And shudder into the bottomless
Coldness,
Getting messed!

She felt her reality was a
Manuscript; trial and error being a
Constant process.
She grew into her story, without
Living in one.
Secretly longing for the love that
Sat in a bracket.
She was like a guitar solo,
Awakening,
Maddening.
And he was just in search of
Something silent and bitter;
Trying to find clarity in the
Semblance of things,
Because he had nothing better!
She cooked some spaghetti for
His brains, which he ate and
Belched, as he was wired with her Electric curls;
They waltzed into the most
Commonplace of beliefs,
As if there was no end to this world!  

As the dream broke and they
Fell off the margins of the book,
She found herself underneath
The ice sheath of her frozen mind;
He was still on his toes...
She could only see the fleeting
Glimpses of movement while
Passion seeped from her poresW

I miss our kisses in the park, in the dark,
Where we used to take cover and hover.
We stole moments, your hands over my body, caressing the soft parts.
Whispering love.
You touched my inner rhapsody,
And it turned into a melody so profound,
I became a Clarinet.

We talked about things only movie characters would know.
I brought my own script to your stage, and we had our heuristic drama.
There we were, embraced in the discords of the world, laughing at the jokes no one told,
Like the despicable way things generally are...
Like the woman who swallowed all her golds,
Or the man who killed for love. Love enabled people to **** these days and it made us think, how?
We always had known otherwise:
Love made us more human.
Now we ended that sentence with a question!

We kept kissing in the dark anyway,
Tasting your tongue,
Smelling the cheap smoke you could afford, dreaming about things we could not...
Forgetting about the people who died, while keeping things in order.
I wrote vague poems for you, that you read and ceased to remember.
Like old towns that had homes with letter boxes.
I opened one of those, on that yellow house with ancient moss gathered on its establishment...
It was empty,
So you promised to write a letter to me, promised to address it to that letter box, so I could find it one day.

I went there yesterday,
But the house wasn't there somehow.
It lost all the promises.
Yours too.

It lost me.
About you, I couldn't tell anymore.