THE GIVER & THE TAKER.

Maybe, I was meant,
To only become; a glue,
To gather, and fix your pieces,
Shattered, tiny, broken little fragments,

Then you slipped away; discreetly,
Between my fingers,
Like a fluid, like silk
Leaving slight traces of you,

I, still; feel the warmth of your hand,
On mine: eminently love-deprived,
Just; when I envisaged,
A thought: you will never know,

Though I know, you; will contemplate,
Will endeavour, to decipher,
The existence of this mystery,
Which I, have, now become,

But you? Will fail; and I’ll be saddened,
To witness You, not win,
And I? Will expunge, all your words,
Like blasphemy from a child’s mouth.

Then; to Then.

When we sat
The tip of my foot
Touching your calf

You didnt notice
Love slipped, penetrated
Imperceptibly, but all; at once

Seized my heart
Little, did it know
Nothing for you; was it

And now; i feel
You; not feel its warmth,
But the coldness

Within you
It remains,
Within me,

You will: always.

ALL YOU NEED IS LESS.

Imperfection.

You tiptoed into my heart,
Then left with a clamour,
Shattering its broken peices,

Still quivering they are; beautifully,
Little broken peices of it,
Tell a tale:
 
 Of the hands held,
Of your hair felt; silk-like
 Of your ethereal smile

And that imperfection
Makes you imperfectly; perfect
I still feel my fingertips,

Feeling them; to remind me:
How imperfectly perfect,
You, and my love: always will be,

Imperfect.

The Touch.

Your hand:
Warm; like the green grass
In an orchard of flowers
After the sun sets

Soft, delicate and fragile
Like an inner petal
Of a newly blossomed rose
Made me feel; alive.