Sitting face to face with an unexpressed wish to be held
Pink umbrella, bitter coffee, passion fruit macaroons
Monsoon clouds, loneliness and unfulfilled boons
Such a short story this tale of your life and mine, together
Hands held but briefly, skin to nerves, an affair of the weather
I hold up muddled monsoon mirrors to my soul and ask
If skin makes love to the heart or does it wear a mask?
I douse my skin every night and dawn, in jasmine, neroli and rose
What's washed still lingers and your scent on my soul flows
Oh to draw short stories into a multi layered tome
Resting my skin on your soul's sweet home!
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