the rain won't touch you

it is tender,

the traces of you that live in

the sheets, the door knobs, 

the curve of my neck and

the sprinkle of sugar spilt

on the kitchen top

as you rushed to make a brew

because you have no time to waste

in your clockwork life.

some days i will find traces of you,

in the dent of our couch,

when all is still,

and you are in the moment, 

with me,

caressing each second with 

pure, aching gentleness.

on days when the sky is

a tad bit too grey, my heart will sink

with your mood,

and i find myself framing the small part of a world

unfair to you on the corner walls

where the sun won’t ever touch upon.

you live in the soft of my mind,

where the glitches of my most haunting thoughts

are kept at bay

for the shine of your being.

the wonder of eternity’s rise and fall

is how easy it is to dismiss the

pessimism of a lover’s curse that everybody 

fears so much,

they fuel its presence.

but i, i dismiss it wholly every time i wake up to you,

smiling in its everlasting familiarity;

i dismiss it in the way my toes still tingle when our fingers touch,

when i still pluck out the stars that have collided in our love from the skies

for you.

they are milestones of an eternal love,

glowing from every intangible emotions we experience,

together, every film ending we criticise, 

every cookie crumble on our bedsheets

and every state of being we will ever feel.

i travelled the landscape of you

and found the site of flamboyant, frayed flags on bent poles

of those who had conquered,

so i sit in the chaos of what was once,

and hold in my hand the gentle breeze of a white flag

not to conquer you,

but to surrender to the colossal beauty

of all that is you

and all that is love.

you live in the soft of my mind

as i do yours,

and we unravel in unison,

becoming beautifully, succulently

and joyously

comfortable.