Do I still remember him? they asked
I burst out into a laughter
I knew he was a poem I could hardly write up in ecstasy; love irony they say
His smile,
witty and naive as a kid's milk moustache
His eyes,
catastrophic; my fragile heart
His palm,
warmest closet to hide in my insecurities,
His words,
born to play the rhythm of my soul
His love,
tender as a cool breeze on sunburn
His arms,
narcotic to my soul; a lifeline
His ego,
fragile as a dandelion tufts,
Sigh!
those hands that he stamped on me is tattooed right in my gut
but anger is not something I would serve him but pity,
Pity the power he held on my love,
The urge he had to prove "he is the man in our relationship"
His restless need to whisper "he knew everything and I better relax"
Those words,
Exactly the ones I mistook for your guarding love and selfless care,
He knew to play it well,
I learned to paddle in his reflections but reflecting on mine burned him always,
I exploded into laughter again; breathless
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