Woodwork
My affection, it grew like a treeReaching out words like branchesChopped & sanded till you swept up the scrapsWith a broom of the twigs that fell off. *Read my other Love Poetry. Or listen to it.
Love poetry
My Ten-Rupee Smile
You had a gift for me, you saidAn excuse to see me again over the weekendAnd continue the conversation thatDespite our careful carrying of our respective dignitiesSloshed over and spilled into crazy laughter, often. I thought back to the day priorA quick coffee turned six-hour un-dateCostume trials at a movie…
When Love Becomes A Game
I’ve done this so many times,I know how it goesAnd while it never stops hurtingThe acrid taste starts to seem familiar,even pleasurable for its warmthIt tastes just like wine. Heartbreak doesn’t sting like it used to,I know this time,I’ll live through it, like all those othersIt’s odd to get used…
My Not-Quite Valentine
I know it’s not February but I’m silly that wayYou know this already, my part-time boyfriendAlmost loverFriend with such delightful benefits Just as I know you dislike labels so I torment you with a few hundred moreWeekend soul mateWeeknight playmateStandby date, always on call for an SMS or two It’s…
You Make Me Cry
Bad poetry, alcohol & cigarettesStupid romcoms, cheap sexThe old failsafe remedies send their regrets I could build another handful of dreamsSew up the tears,show but a hint of blood at the seams But this isn’t the ache of oldIt’s the poison of too many hungers fed with smokeToo little, too…
Love has left the building
Love has left the building.What’s more, it left without paying the rent.Don’t bother chasing though,I know where it went. Off to confuse another lifeAnd mess up someone else’s scoreAnd to shake up things forAnyone who dares think that life is such a bore. And since it is such divine entertainmentMethinks…
Just another love poem
They call this emotion blind.So if love were a painting, I’d be a blind artist. And it’s food for the soulSo if love were a banquet, I’d be a glutton.If love were a bottle of vinegar, I’d be pickled in it. But what would my love be like? I’ll tell…
Two To Tango, Two To Talk
It takes two to tango. It takes two to talk. Maybe they’re not that different after all. Shall we?