Playing criss-cross on my flat belly,

With fingertips that oft escaped to circle
Within lips of a softly voweled navel,
You’d let your fingers linger on my skin
Which you said reminded you 
Of kitten’s underbellies and petals of palash,
Your knuckles brushed over my arms
In the whispered intimacy of a caress,
As we ate, barely tasting our sustenance.

You would carry me out
At the twilight hour brocaded in
Shadows in silent salsa,
Just to see them roll over 
My alabaster realms as tides of smoke,
There was a song in your gaze 
Which was reflected syllable by syllable
In that fluid new moon smile,
And reverberated in the tattoo of 
My erratically whimsical heartbeat.

Now punctuated in pregnant pauses
Your indifference casts a shadow on my days,
Your fingers seem to prefer the crosswords,
Dinner is an engrossing, silent ritual
And togetherness obsolete and forgotten,
We once read looks now words
Are difficult to comprehend.

Only at lonely hours of dusk,
I still see the shadows softly caress
My skin still smooth as eucalyptus’ trunks,
And despite the quietude that song
Just refuses to fade from my soul’s depths…



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