I watched how the slant of winter sun Glinted off your skin
Languishing and exhausted
The weight of sleep was so deep from last nights loving
That you were colourless
On another day you become the stranger
shifting between two languages
one word for antiquity
one word for forthwith
and both written on twisted pages
with no other predetermined course
all your yesterdays experiences carefully mapped to the minute.

With the haze of the morning my arms goose pimple
It is the wind’s objective to pass
through the fretwork of our lives to an inevitable destination.
Soon the affection will temper into an exchange of incidental interests
when you begin to watch the time.
It’s time to go
For all one knows, none of this is real
For all one knows, I am the ghost

words © malai carrara