From the hidden caves of sleepless nights and fingertips fumbling with the bed sheets
on the cusp of passion N prudence -
comes this:
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She had known him before, a few stolen quicksilver
moments, and each time it whipped out a new craving in her, a need
combustible enough to make all night bonfires. But, all that was ever done, all
that she could ever do, is douse the fire, pocket the ashes.
Yet for all that, it was love, wasn’t it? Or lust? Love
of mayfly for the dying sun, love of one-day insects for the candle-wick. End indeed
IS more beautiful, the
finale truer than the prologue.
Lingering
for a moment on the very edge, and like all lovers she parted with a whisper;
“Not just yet. Soon, but not yet”
Copyright © Neerja Yadav