It is Paris again
where we spent that
week in the knees,
learning love's a-b-c's
and thinking we'd still be
unharmed.
It is still here,
that grey asphalt,
still here, that crease
felt by love's deportees, who
once battle-ready, are now
unarmed.
There is still that
half-promise of the ferry
lights, still the breeze
comes with half-guarantees
of charm, of leaving you
uncharmed.
(after Leela Gandhi)
No comments:
Post a Comment