Prelude
Sometimes,
I wake up to find you,
sleeping all over me,
Your legs royally,
making a pillow of me.
Your arms,
cordoning me,
from the world like a prized possession.
Sometimes,
I wake up to find you,
fussing about the room,
as delicately as possible
to not,
wake me up,
but somehow, I always do.
I,
have woken up,
to find you talking to me,
just to stop after,
seeing my eyes opening.
Then you seal your speech with a kiss.
Every morning,
waking up next to you,
the preceding nine, ten, twelve hours,
feel like a beautiful reality,
stashed in some other dimension.
But,
yesterday, I wasn't your pillow,
yesterday, I wasn't your confessional,
yesterday, you weren't my night,
yesterday, I was just a guy who had slept with you.
It's true, we will not forgive each other for this.
Hormones & processes
I know,
when I see you,
the adrenaline causing the,
excitement before that,
gives way to,
dopamine.
I know,
when I see you,
my body produces enough,
estrogen to make me,
feel overwhelmed.
I feel,
it'd be the testosterone,
causing all the vertical movements,
when in between talks,
I catch a waft of,
your breath.
I think,
when we are together,
I am not thinking of you,
or you of me,
but our own separate
imagined version of us.
To say,
that I am writing this for you,
or you are singing that for me,
is somewhat not true,
for all that we know of each other,
is just a memory retrieval at that time.
Intermission
Reality is a function of real,
& unlike the universal ones,
the glowing sun and the sinking moon,
our reals are fickle,
& our reality subjective.
You disappear,
as you dip into my personal space,
to kiss me.
Only the experience remains,
and then the memory,
copied, converted and protected
to suit my cognition.
Of my existence and yours
There is something that,
connects the morning you,
to the night you,
the sad you,
to the hyper you,
the stoned you,
to the sober you,
and that something is me.
There is something about me,
that makes you,
an angel, a rainbow, a comet,
that makes you, not you,
but what I imagine you to be.
When you are next to me,
you are me.
When you are looking at me,
it's me looking at myself.
When you are talking to me,
It's my introspection.
For me, without me,
you don't have an existence.
The familiarity of your lips,
the non-mystery of your thoughts,
the smell of your hair,
which I know so well,
all have existed in my head always.
To say that I've just met you,
or that I met you then,
would be completely false,
because I've never met you,
every time it was just another version of myself that I met.
Epilogue
Peeing out of the,
two one-inch
circles,
I can't see the world in its totality.
Calculating inside those
3 pounds,
I can't reach anyone
but myself.
And I know you feel the same.
