Knowing you

We wake, you and I, and just a thought of your
now no longer jaded eyes, loosens metaphors,
inching their way to the tip of my tongue,
falling slowly like the purple flowers
of a Wisteria, a soft cadence, and yes,
morning has broken, a light haze creeps
through the gently parted beige curtains,
but though nature’s delight beckons me,
urging me towards a makeshift Eden,
I’m just thankful you stayed,
and what are words but syllables
strung together? What is language, figurative
or literal, but just something planted on a
page to embody meaning? What is a
poetic technique but another way of
expression? And I don’t need to write and
write, weave and weave, build and build, and
create and create to tell you how much
you mean, how much all of you speaks
more and more each day, and words
spoken, unspoken, written, unwritten
will never give you justice for never
giving up on me, and so, I kiss back this
time, unlike the last when I walked away,
and you aren’t my muse or inspiration,
but deeper than trivial terms,
but I write this anyway at the break of dawn,
at 5, while you peer over my shoulder,
and that unnerves me because I’m afraid
of giving you too little, but it also emboldens
me because I’m here with you in your
apartment, and that matters much more
than art ever did.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

Protected by Copyscape

6 responses

    • I noticed the style and the alliteration! Yeah I deleted all my hate poems, and only kept those that either tackle an idea or make a point. Thanks Derrick.

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