It’s okay, you say.
unweaving your sugar-spun silver from my hair
It’s okay. We can do it One Day. Seems so far away
when I have you here –
under my fingernails
between my toes
dragging you under
pulling you close.
I’ll weave you a tapestry; a real Bayeux
from the soft whispers embroidered on white cotton nights –
the ones we pressed, and starched on monsoon mornings
and the scorching curses
you slipped like a sin
dripped onto my sweat soaked skin.
You can read it to me.
in between the cool promises you kiss
against the rim of a bottle
lying between the words.
Wearing open toed shoes
and tight-lipped smiles
pale toes peeping
and white teeth creeping
blindly looking for Braille with eyes far from unseeing.
Night falls into your lap
It’s all I can give you, besides the marrow of my bones
And if you want them – studded with rhinestones.
You have imbroglio eyes, my plat du jour
swaddled in a comforter, white chrysalis of Queen Lenor,
We’ll do it One Day, you pray,
I wonder idly about how you’d look in a sunrise
with the glow of real love in your eyes.
For those that can only bear to be half in love