In its undisturbed stationary ways,
the sun is hotter than ever
and it burns
like paper on fire
while on others
it is soft, somewhere
between the clouds,
as if it were
too shy or forced to hide
and then there are times
when the same sun
reminds me of, oh,
I don’t know
of broken twig, still stuck with the plant
like a tender heart
yearning to be free.
It is half past one, and you
are more restless than I, when
this day had started, when
you and I met.
The air that parts the window from the curtain, is
colder than I guessed, and now
I fear that I might freeze to death.
And so I move, towards
the closest thing for warmth, and
I find you, wrestling for sleep.
So, I kiss you, gently on your cheeks
And it’s wet now, colder than the rest of you
But there are other things to worry about
Because the gentle peck on your cheek
Wouldn’t even be there, when you wake up.
A message, disappearing, before anyone reads it.
There is much else to be worried about
Like, the coldness, in between you and me
and beneath all of us.
He looked through the windows of a desolate room.
At the lovely day that could dispel all gloom,
And all he did was long and long,
For someone to whom he could belong.