the inside of your elbow

watching your beard grow

the subtle whistle out your mouth

after the incoming roar of your snore

notes left on the side of pages

dirty ditties, wisdom for the ages

the way you lose games, the stages

of you coming to terms with changes

your maddening habit of counting

pennies while burning money, pretending

we’re Bonnie and Clyde, we’re spending

our frizzy hair in the wind, unheeding

you sleep – your faint eyelashes

below – those dreamy glances

like tennis players, two dancers

pirouetting to several places

the things I miss the most now

how do I contain them all, how

of all the tears I allow

yours are the bitterest, somehow

Β©Shweta Bhat

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