dusty lighter blues

As evening descends on the city with all the nonexistent foreboding of a hug from a friend you haven’t met forever along with stray clouds of potential sorrow, and rain that is yet dreamt of by you, me, us, every blade of grass, every leaf graced with a burnished sheen of dust

As morning ascends with the prescience of a sage who knows that Aurora, goddess of the dawn, and the ragini Sohini both glow with the luminescence, and solace of Sol’s early company

As dusk lingers, pushing you to drink one more cup of tea before footfalls echo in the memory and rose gardens call to you of paths we did not take

As night stretches, feline, feminine, languid, in the hour right after midnight and we sit in our respective pools of lamplit light reading of happily ever after, and occasionally despair

Here, princess, I sit writing for you these lines of weaving and unweaving
Novellas, cigarettes, glasses of wine, and letters as yet unfinished