dearest

now hes gone..
and the leaves being a slow wither
gravel turns to dust and sand into concrete

i still feellike i could trace a picture of him
slumping on the boot of the car with a little soft smile
and hands placed awkwardly
not knowing what to dowith themselves

if i had a box i would open it and the instances
of the time we met in bylanes and the time we kissed in sort of silly ways
and of the times we threw stones and laughed at silly noises
and watched the tide wash our feet ...
would pour out into the open road before us

then as i think , you turn around , watch me
teardrops listlessly sitting in my minds eye,
begin to dry under your cotton stare..

meghana