Lolita

Lolita,


Years from this day
If you ever wondered, if it would be the same
Know, it wouldn't..



If you looked back
I would be long gone..



Somewhere at the crossroads
Your first kiss, grey and frail
Somewhere across the deserts
Your first rains dry and pale
Somewhere in the concrete streets
Your letters, buried and burnt..



A thousand miles away
I would be trading time
I could wake up to you every day
And, sleep in your wrinkles...



But, would it be any different?

Someday

Many a year from this day
The eyes will meet, maybe
An everyday scene, a familiar tune



The skin will be different, though...

Candid

You. Me.
A bit leftover. A bit otherwise.



Stranger showers.
Penned lips. Cigarette. Peach coffee.



Poetry. Short story.


A novel, maybe.....

In the lack of poetry

You. Me. The same, yet not.
The difference of a safety-pin.



Spent lives. Drenched linen.
The entirety flushed down, today.



The habit of an erstwhile didn't last.


No balladry was scripted in the lack of poetry.....

Tic-tac-toe

Inexplicit love. Shredded time.
Tagore. Nickels and dimes.



Stoned traffic. Singular seas.
Locked lips. Inexpensive nicotine.



You. Me. Leo Tolstoy.


Tic-tac-toe.....

Singular

The tired wings, let's hold them high.
The monochrome tramlines. The tireless traffic.



A singular cigarette. Hustled smokes.
Playing masks at the length of a skin.



Off habit, born another.


You. Me. The solitary skies.....

Raconteur

He would tell tales.


Personal. Impersonal.


Faces. Masks. Identities.


Lives. Etched off ink...