Tracing your eyebrows on paper―
eyes mine, we will
write together our religion.
Each night catches
my moons from the lake
of tears. The days were
becoming shorter.
Surely, I have not
arrived amidst the seekers
of easy death. You give me―
the hope of resuscitation.
I promise myself―
I will not give you a call―
till the nightingale sings in
mango grove.
All night it has rained.
Lacrimal. I prepare myself to
wash my eyes again―
to read your face.