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On A night when the stars would be cold and the moon a mere hollow,
I’ll call you with hints of warmth in my words,
Use them to cotton your ears.
On an evening when the blankets would still not be dry from the damp winds,
I’ll call you for unclever conversations
Use them to line your quilts.
On afternoons when seistas would not compensate with lucid dreaming
I’ll call you to pour me margarita and yourself some red wine
And voice dialogues that would be bundled into scripts
Our first project together.
On mornings that would be still fae and hazy with the fog clogging the air
I’ll call you to leave coffee steam and stains on your bathroom mirror
While you still clear your lenses with the mist of my breath
—–……….——
But will your ears be able to hear this time, what they missed seeing in my words previously?
Will that answer, why, despite all the love, do only the bitterest of words find themselves flung only at me?
Will that explain, why I need to explain my words with intent, while yours need to go Scot free?
~ Purvi Petal, 3 Dec ©2015

An aimless, museless, collocation of words that followed me till I gave it shelter and company.

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