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

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s