Shall I compare you to the monsoon, then?
You are darker still, and more violent.
Rich with the smell of damp earth
and the clandestine eroticism of adolescence.

For all that those stolen kisses were an intimation of
immortality,
your lease, alas, had all too short a date. No phone number,
no Facebook, no emails, nothing. It's been half a decade.
I have no way to reach you again.

Swayamsrestha. Self-made, huh?
I cannot vouch for that, but you sure were
sui generis: a Botticelli Venus given birth to by turbulent,
impossibly intertwined zephyrs.

O hypnotic, malevolent fantasy that lodged itself in time.
In time; immutable, inelastic time.
Get lost !
Leave me, the fuck, alone.

I kid of course.
So long as I can breathe, or my eyes can see,
So long live these abominable
verses,
So long willst thou live in me. And this gives life to thee.