Deadbeat love
( i.) Saturday evenings and summer scents
I stretch the sky
Like a sappy love song
across your skin
But you say stars burnt
Like scarlet letters on your palm lines
And love was a thing
Too good for you
To tarnish
Twice.
( ii.) Paper crumbs And parallelisms
I slip poems
Into park bench slots
So you could wear them
Like bandaids
On all those phantom scars
you were like a tide
Torn between
the shore and the moon
Habit and home
And your heart became a cemetery
For anything that seemed like hope
( iii.)Winter lips and weary eyes
we speak silence
In our own dialects
You were tired
Of forevers
They all come down to
Weekdays' waiting
And weekend weariness
You say
In your silence.
( iv.) Morning markets And Valentine cards at sale
I ghost our elegies
In your tombstone heart
You say
We are a mere memory
Losing its meaning
between meter and metaphors
So I trade my deadbeat poems
For a pack of cigars
And try to soak your lipstick stains
In nicotine clouds and sunburnt rains
( v.)
Wine stains
And Wild flowers wearing
your smile
like yesterday's yearning
And tomorrow's turmoil
Become my daily routine
So I whitewash the walls
off our Wednesday love affairs
and Sunday break ups
And wear my silence like a prayer
Cause There's a hacksaw in my heart
That twitches every time I say your name