Spring

Must I stop missing you?
Must I forget your smell?
And wait for our worlds to collide again,
Till ages turn into eternity and eternities into infinitude,
Till we bloom again
Like the purple amaranth.

Infidelity

The one who loved too much
The one who did not love enough
The one who was slightly intrigued
And the one who inspired the seventh verse-
Barely knew the meandering mazes of love.

Straightened bedsheets, creme white curtains,
Fail to masquerade the musty smell of fornication-
It rose from the barren beds and merged
With the smog outside the third floor window
To produce the piercing sensation
of a lingering pain-

a thorn on a freshly plucked rose.