(I don't know, how much I can unlove her...)
Her skin still smells of the crusted wheat knuckling the earth with its monsoon mischief...
(The nose-pin on the coffee table stares indulgingly,at the finger it just pricked...)
Her eyes still carry the nose-pin in their memory everytime they touch my hands clasped in abook.I pretend to read when she speaks...
(Her eyes produce autumnal soliloquies)
No longer my goddess, she sketches a love-bite and my breath shimmers....Happy Birthday 'N'.
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