the rain won't touch you.

it is tender,
the traces of you that live in
the sheets, the door knobs,
the curve of my neck and
the sprinkle of sugar spilt
on the kitchen top
as you rushed to make a brew
because you have no time to waste
in your clockwork life.

some days i will find traces of you,
in the dent of our couch,
when all is still,
and you are in the moment,
with me,
caressing each second with
pure, aching gentleness.

on days when the sky is
a tad bit too grey, my heart will sink
with your mood,
and i find myself framing the small part of a world
unfair to you on the corner walls
where the sun won’t ever touch upon.

you live in the soft of my mind,
where the glitches of my most haunting thoughts
are kept at bay
for the shine of your being.

the wonder of eternity’s rise and fall
is how easy it is to dismiss the
pessimism of a lover’s curse that everybody
fears so much,
they fuel its presence.
but i, i dismiss it wholly every time i wake up to you,
smiling in its everlasting familiarity;
i dismiss it in the way my toes still tingle when our fingers touch,
when i still pluck out the stars that have collided in our love from the skies
for you.

they are milestones of an eternal love,
glowing from every intangible emotions we experience,
together, every film ending we criticise,
every cookie crumble on our bedsheets
and every state of being we will ever feel.

i travelled the landscape of you
and found the site of flamboyant, frayed flags on bent poles
of those who had conquered,
so i sit in the chaos of what was once,
and hold in my hand the gentle breeze of a white flag
not to conquer you,
but to surrender to the colossal beauty
of all that is you
and all that is love.

you live in the soft of my mind
as i do yours,
and we unravel in unison,
becoming beautifully, succulently
and joyously
comfortable.