i want to rewrite the stars
to you and me
forever and only

Dallas days, smoking in your acura legend,
your face veiled, watery eyes.
Tom, I asked you to teach me poetry.
You opened your dictionaries of devotion -
for me to run away, again.
Under a weeping willow, we dug a hole for a time capsule.
Our lives were small enough for this rusty lunchbox.
See, mine was never a kids’ drawing on the refrigerator,
but a western, a shoot-em-up.
Can you understand, just a little,
how it was home I was running towards?
And still, in strange places
I spoke your language of tenderness,
my extinct mother tongue. With words
so ordinary, so simple.

Those memories
                  the warmth of you
make it hard to imagine 
that you are buried somewhere in Iowa.

I revisited that cow pasture with our tree,
my hands clawing at the frozen earth to get time back.
Tom, you promised me poetry, yet all I can write is
please come back to me
in a hundred variations. How I long
to bargain your soul for mine.
Your little toy airplane, the one you gave me
when we were kids, still stands on my nightstand.
This time let me teach you
about the cruelty of freedom.

And every night my love,
I watch you from my window,
Sitting on your rooftop,
And staring at the moon,
Like there's a piece of your heart,
Hidden in it's shadow.

I see it all love,
The way you look at the moon,
Like it's the only place for you,
Away from this chaotic world,
Where you can put your guard down
And throw away your mask.

I watch it every night love,
Your face.
Your face honey, draped in the
curtain of moonlight,
Oh, it mesmerises me,
And the beauty of your eyes,
With the moon's reflection in it,
My love,it leaves me spellbound.

I see it all love,
The way your eyes glimmer sometimes,
And the curve that forms on your face
talking to the moon.
And sometimes,I even see the shinning pearls cascading down your cheeks,
As the cigarette touches your lips.

It's like watching the moon
And talking to it gives you peace,
While looking at your face,
gives me serenity.
I wish someday I could watch the
moon with you and you would watch
the dawn with me,
I wish someday I could rewrite the stars,
And make you mine.
-Neha

Our story isn't a poem,
nor a novel to be written.
We can not rewrite the chapters,
we can not rewrite our story.
Only if I could,
I'd write a happy ending.

From the smiles i faked,

to the tears i've wept,

the path i took,

left me lost in just a hook.



If i could just rewrite the past,

i would still bring back us,

back to those times,

where things weren't a mess.

It was so much easier
When I just
wanted it all.

his hands sketch my edges, down
tracing the dips and curves and swells
his fingers curl into my skin, soft
where ever skin is found

burning with every seconds past
longing for his touch to last

his hands feel through me
reaching soul deep, he breaths
in holy serenity, feeding me solely;
his masterpiece