my lap, and my hands
find a way to your hair
to play with the strands.
We stay there, idle,
as if time freezed just
for us.
You offer me a cup of
your solitude, and I taste it
with my eyes closed.
I prepare a sandwich of
our silences, and you are
happy to take a bite.
I say something with
my eyes and you nod your
head into acceptance.
I draw an imaginary
heart around your navel
and you pinch my
shoulder in protest.
This intimate passing
of time into nothingness,
challenges fate.
This is when the God of
oblivion misses his
monthly target-
That he had to sweep
and dump heaps of
memories into a nullity.
But we kept knitting
metaphors till they grew
wings, and they flew away
from the clutches of time-
Now they're stars.