So vaguely transparent
those canvases you draw on,
How do they absorb the sense
of your hand
better than I,
breathing at the touch of
your palm-lines.
The rolling colour, creates
pathways,
You never imagined.
but I, caught in the crease of your
brows,
have seen them unraveling,
like streams of light
on festive nights.
feb 08
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