Sunday, November 27
It's easy to be this way, pumpkin.
Why don't you see it my way, dumpling?
Can you see
the half cynical
face in the cloud up there?
The other half is facing backwards.
Let's go further up,
and see,what the other half is.
Do you read this ode, like I do?
and tells circular tales.
I'll sit and watch you
smile tomato smiles
while talking to your distant cousin on the phone.
You can watch me
dig out my old sketchbooks
and give them watermelony looks.
We could backpack to the big tree,
cycle in the dark, guided by the moon.
We could survive on juicy oranges, sweet roadside ginger tea,
stale sweet-sour biscuits in big glass jars (and maybe, oily paranthas too).
The days would begin with groggy mornings
in the pitch dark
we can express our love for daybreaks, equally.
The nights would end with you removing yours and I wearing my socks
either clean or smelly.
Do you see,
the view is taking my breath away.
The dark blue starry sky makes me think of trapeze artists swinging,
I can't tell if it's too late in the night or too early in the day.