Black coffees remind me of you,
and of conversations that went stale.
and sugar cubes that still lose the shape,
but do not keep the sweetness intact,
and love that tasted bitter with
passage of time, like black
Random eyes on the roads, I tend
to avoid them. Afraid mine will meet someone’s
as deep and black as yours.
They remind me of you and the labyrinth
that sucked me in, only to throughout
when I started calling it home.
And the inevitable blank spaces
between the light and sound of lightning;
reminds me of our differences and it reminds
me how started together, only
to end at the same place, but a lifetime apart.
Time, they say, is mostly just wrong.
The blood which runs nonchalantly in my veins,
a dark shade of maroon reminds me of
your wedding dress, plated to perfection.
And the nights when my bed automatically
pushed me to the other side, to save some
space to gulp your familiar warmth.
Poor thing didn’t know.
Listen, love. I have painted the mirrors black in
this house, since my existence reminds me of you.
Just in case, if you decide to shed the cloak
of inevitability and come home,
I have painted a corner of my heart black,
which opens the doors only for you, just in case.