I open one pebble eye,
the rattling leaves,
whistle in the garden
and the red loneliness of the fallen leaves.
A final step, they declare
to emerge into a nemesis of nights
the flowers indicating
yawns of the sweet afternoon
leaning towards a fallen bush.
They do not hesitate,
they paint the other fallen one,
flooding my mouth, my hands, my lungs.
each pigment a shade lighter.
I see the lavender tree,
the one where our own hearts blossomed
amongst the thick smoke.
The palm remembers the desperation of air.
The palm remembers the floral touch of your lips too,
The delicious time stops here,
webbing our love on the laps of a lemon juice.
We are just an ordinary stone
what stays is the mind of a flower blooming
cold dew of a coral rose.
Devika Mathur resides in India…
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