Only That

I unpack my bags
Clean my dishes, wash my clothes
And write poetry
Pedantic as me,
Not fantastic as you

And so here we are
Back again
To you being you
Me being without you
An old poem, dressed in new clothes.

Haven’t heard from her for two days. She’s quiet, and I am Making do with her brief messages Asking me to send my pics. In these quiet moments, In her confident pauses, I know–I can feel, An expansion...

Like when the wave, after splashing you as if you were a child, Recedes, as if you were a stranger As if you will muddy her waters She too, began her indifference God, tell me, why everything Turns out like You...

"Twins," she said.
That is when my heart split.

I did not understand fire, Until I saw desire in her eyes. Nor did I know the smell of ashes, Until I was tucked in the urn. Between the desire and the ashes, A country self-immolated in hatred. Its men drunk plenty on...