Coloured fingertips; the ethereal powder
Escapes my grasp with a brush of elusive lepidoptera wings
Did I just touch magic?
Or did I feel love?
Bated breath; the brilliant orb, now ochre, now coral
Bids daily farewell; wanes sanguine at the eternal crease like your half closed eyes
Did a miracle just unfold?
Or canvas of love?
Stolen smiles; unspoken words, lines crisscross against blue skies
Taut longing emerges over the crackling static
When nothing makes sense and sense means nothing
Is this love?
Clipped fingernails; orange juice dregs, everyday fragments
The dimples in the bed slowly filling
Warms me even when you’re gone
Is that ephemeral or a glimpse of the divine?
Isn’t this love.
Anuradha Venkatnarayan
1 comment:
Love is definitely a four letter word when it comes to the popular meaning of it. It has been bastardized and corrupted too much. But yes it is love when you feel it's love - that's the end of it and one needs to know nothing more.
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