longings and losses

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.