an untitled love story…

you said love had colors
when we painted
our imaginations with
broken stools
of childhood memories

and caught me
blushing with a
brush of make-up and light touch of lipstick..


you taught
me play guitar,
tickling the red and blue blotches
of my chewed up nails
and i almost thought it was your
wrist cords that budged
like roots of oak
when they braided
Arabic acrostics
pinning my pigtails
across the earth–
and for once, I thought gravity
was a lightyear away
when I glimpsed you
dissecting black moles around
the frame of my rimmed glasses

I was all your dirty girl,
with dimples dripping to match
my sighs, and while we played
with rosy letters and pinky promises 

I won
but I realized

you were lost
somewhere in the cracking joints
of my ink,
so i tried to find you
between the
patched up commas and
the blackened semicolons of
my roman poetry

I remember that day,
when your sweat clung
to the tissues of my sweatpants,
and begged to stay between
my thighs,
I kept reassuring that you
were nothing but poetic plasters
perched around my eyes,
but I knew I lied
to myself

you were my dictionary
dotted with non lexical hyperboles
of yesterday’s superlatives

and for an instance,
I almost pictured
your lips
mouthing my name,
releasing ripples of
poetic pleasure ‘tween
the creases in
my cowlick knuckles

you sang me Shakespearean lullabies 
before I slept..
but now–
it seems they
are not enough–

maybe death had colors too….

– Yeshwant Sridhar