So what if she turns lazily in her sleep
And half-heartedly claims what she knows
Is not hers for all time to come?
Wet, warm tears might be oceans of storm
She dreams of being the river that yields
Blue-green sarees, vermillion memories
Treasured arms holding onto
hopskipping tomorrows; sweet nothings
So go on and sink your teeth on her lower lip
Her thirst, and deepest sins are all but
Yours to take for all time to come
Cards and keys into a bitter sweet world
One that is at once one's and owned by none
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