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
ยฉShweta Bhat
Shweta Bhat Poetry 