when i kissed her
blood started dripping
from my lower lip
it was a gentle touch
of the flesh
but her face
was a broken mirror
reflecting a shaken image
of you
the ink i filled my pen with
refused to touch the paper
no matter how hard
i tried to negotiate the lines
the words smiled at me
sadly
then disintegrated
it was not a question
of writing a letter
that refused to be written
sitting at the edge of the universe
does not bode well
even though at times
we don’t have a choice
especially if we were born
there
we break too many doors
trying to get in
and when one opens
gently
you are not there
because who you were
crashed against the hard surface
i have become
so go ahead
throw your scarf in the river
it will float for some time
then sink
no one will see it after that
but you will know it’s there
and that will be your poem
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