Even the red of roses seems brighter.
So does the diamond ring.
But nothing, nothing beats
Your smile.
So I gift you nothing.
Recall
One fine thread of your hair
astray on my palm, curly
like a question mark,
then loses itself in the drift.
Tiny hinge etches a corner
of your lips, trails a closing
door:what it is you are hiding,
not letting me in?
An almost sensuous twang
lacing your every wordonce a flu bug hits, lock ears
eager to pick.
If only I have turned
to that page you want me to
read myself silent
lines you left behind.
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