I like your mouth when it tastes of smoke.
It’s one of the things I haven’t told you.
You know you have this way of looking when you’re surprised,
Head tilted, eyes startled, mouth smiling and forming an inaudible “what?”
I think you look so real like that.
And I’m so glad you are surprised so often.
I like the creaking floorboards of your house,
The small kitchenette,
The splash painted walls,
And the way your canvases smell of oils and linseed.
Just burn that blue shirt with the stupid stripes
And bury the ashes somewhere you cannot reach them.
But how would you know all this?
That this place exists,
Is one of the things I haven’t told you.
© Rasagya Kabra, 22 September, 2011