Cracked window on the eastern wall,
Stones that never fell from sky,
Rain that hardly poured to ground,
Wind that whispered my name to you,
The ink that spilt through the wall,
The name that grafted into your phone,
Messages left are but memories bereft,
The fingers that tapped away to no call,
The days that became the months to come,
The months that became hours of mourning,
The hours of tears with days of sleep,
Our hearts to break, but in shame silent;
Who could never have courage to respond,
Say my name in your heart and ere arrive,
So give me a number and I shall give you all,
These desires I have, the virtues you need,
All the sins between us shall be our love,
Now the hour of parting for all love and sin
Arrives with sweat and pissed news to fall,
So I run towards the untoward hope now,
That I shall return in hope of better words.

Category:
Poetry, Romance, Works
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