longings and losses

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the cusp between longings and losses is
where I drift into the silent memories 
of a man with crepuscular skin.
an art journal on his lap,
and moonbeams in his hair
my eyes licked the sorcery in his;
blemished face that gazed at constellations
and a bronze moustache where
silver seeds sprout.
one day,it rained.
clouds travelled across 
mountains and rivers,
over mussels and bluebells
to soak us in the downpour.
a million drops drizzled
and we melted into the
pockets of monsoon.
yet his seeds grew in my trampled soils
and bloomed into poetry and poppies every spring.



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