When I woke up, I was still holding your face in my hands
The bristles of your beard scraped the skin of my palm
But you are not there.
I wish relationships were like clothes
We could soak the stains in Ala
And Surf, daag achche hai, scrub them
When they dried we could iron out the creases
And if
the shirt didn’t look as good as new
We could simply change the shirt.
My bed is slept in by me. I must try the other side.
The stains are on my fingers
The clothes flutter dry.
And when I wake up
I am sometimes still holding your face in my hands.
Vinitha, June 24, 2019
