26 August, 2012


I didn’t cry then, but many hours later,
at the beat of a steel-strung guitar
and my own breath, steaming and struggling,
trying to keep up with the waltzing rhythm.

We had laughed at the time- how ridiculous
it would be to weep! When all we’d been able
to do was embrace, and eat spices, and keep
laughing at the perfect joy between us.

As the tears fell, I was reminded of pasts,
of dramatic winters and tropical springs,
of leftover desire and unspoken truths,
of all the reasons why distance ran the direction.

I didn’t cry then, but many hours later,
pouring all the air I’d been saving in my lungs
out onto the floor so that I could rest anew,
under a wrinkled bed sheet, next to a box-fan.

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