Those pariah words
that I counted on my
finger tips . .

Pray! What shall I be in my next birth !

Lo! The clouds have devoured the moon.
What shall the oceans have now?

'the constellations in your hands ..'

the several moons
of our last randez-vous
haven't yet faded
in my irises ..

the smile of
your eyes
lingers on the brim
of the tea mug
that kissed
your lips ..

and the fragrances
of your words
still salivates in my mouth . .
feeling the warmth
of your tongue

the several suns
across your balcony
and those intoxicated bees
hovering at your window..

that night
which blended
into a mirthful morrow,
I remember,
several constellations
in your hands..
of them, one satelite,
me, was aglow
on the terrace
of your city..


..