When loneliness is a man,
He grows beard and search for a roof under a crow's feet.
He drag himself into a sigh and let a cigarette sleep on his mouth.
A football dances in his feet, 
like a kitten so soft but dead,
In lunar glow he looks in the corners of rooms for his childhood laughs .
He warms food twice or thrice, tracing scars of swallowed onions, and sleeps, but is never asleep.
His curtain are bleak white, where a butterfly won't sit as a guest.
His dirty laundry sleeps inside a ceramic bowl his grandmother gifted him, while moss grow between his fingers.
He watches and watches,until the city lights die, stinking of kerosene dreams,
Until his breath is not painful like a thunderstorm kissing a flowerpot.
When loneliness is a woman, 
she cuddles an earthquake in her spine and calls a void 
by her lovers name.
Her body finds habitat in bathroom tiles, wet and soft like a peanut shell
And tiptoes into the knot 
she made for her self.
She queues up to buy books 
and write letters for strangers.
Buying flowers for herself,  
And keeping water lillies in old Pepsi bottles,
She listens to songs inside a broken shell once found inside her shoes.
Collecting leaves fell out of friend's garland she counts her nightmares 
With every good night kiss her mother denied her.
She watches and watches, 
until the red headed devils stop dancing, 
until she becomes a thermocol plate in which angels put their wastes from the feast.
When loneliness is loneliness,
It finds art in a strand of an eyelash, and writes in Italiced proper nouns.
It raises knuckles over the tears and commands it to stay still till 
it finds an oxymoron good enough
to fit the palms of rainbow gone wrong .
When nine tulips dry on a rainy evening,
 it takes them to tours, 
with a child like excitement, offering prayers for their departed souls.
Eating naked strawberries for dinner, 
it traces gunpowder in poems ,
With its shark baby teeth 
until the wrinkled alphabets start making sense,
Until chrysanthemums suck a galaxy out of one's heart.

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