A helium filled sorrow residing 
in a balled up love letters,
equals love for the smoothness of 
a mole in your collarbone.
You carry the memory of my eyes 
every where you move, you say.
I unfold your cuffs while you confess
to have dreamnt of a bougainvillea baby
with my smiles and your smile.
This is the point I am supposed to blush.
Your heart hums a paper boy's song.
Joy grunts your throat then.
Like the memory of a sea 
inside a dead fish's fins.
Like the coldness of a weapon 
again warmness of helplessness.
May be that's why you burnt rainbows 
to pieces of charcoal 
and decided to clean 
your teeth with it.
May be that's why you decided 
to push the limbless world 
into wave traffic and apologise 
half heartedly to all your wounds.
This is the moment you 
turned into a stranger.
You slice me to my bones and
smoother your edges.
You, a shovel intended to kill,
not to preserve life inside earth.
You, a pear stealer,
A whipped comet,
A misplaced hand, 
A mistranslated litany,
A misremembered god.
Am ashamed of my lips 
that kissed yours.
Am avengeful of my heart that 
baptised love for your sake.
All I want was to pluck
a word of mercy from
the throat of a lover.
Still ,I sleep on your molars 
as the soft flesh of a lamb.
And tune myself into a hearing aid 
the wind wants to own.





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