I often stand by the broken banister
Staring at my feet,
And I shudder
When I hear your footfall
On the sidewalk across the street.
I wonder, if you in your stealth
Would embrace me from behind
As my lover would reach out
At 2AM past-midnight.
Would you echo, replay, and ravish
My mind, of cobwebbed dreams and
A potpourri of skin, sweat and torn seams?
It has been a while
Since you took residence
In between my reasoning and reality,
Blurring the mundane with Polaroid memories
I had in vain, tried to destroy.
You somehow managed to sneak in some
Through the backdoor I thought I had latched.
And when I’m not looking,
You hang them –
Festoons of carcass
In a theater of irreparable illusions.
You make me believe
That there is nothing wrong with me,
When I stare at whitewashed walls
To paint surreal fantasies.
Would you hold my hand and lead me
Through bungled allies of wrecked promises?
Kiss me with your opiate lips,
So you and I become one
In our curtained world with fastened blinds.
I hope you know,
I’m still standing by the broken banister
Waiting for your return
As my ink floods the roofless skies.
24 September 2016