Sweet Nothing

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.

One Day

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,

One Day.

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

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