Promise me

Prove it, you are only here to suggest
some furniture and to add new music
to my playlists.
Promise me, you aren’t here to get
under my skin, and crawl up through
the veins to reach for the most
enamoured red object I’ve been
bestowed with; skillfully stored
in some assembled set of bones.

Because honey, if you intend to
steal this heart, better be prepared
to replace it with yours.
I deal with perfected business trades
because the loses incurred are beyond repair.

A heart snatched without a barter system,
usually ends up at the door step.
Returned but not at the right place.

And then I’d have to place it in an icebox of
tears just to keep it functioning.
And when you’d ask me about the
box I’d have to pretend a smile to
say it belongs to my friend.

As if loving someone had always
been such an embarrassment
that people died for it in vain.

I know I’d develop a void freely
floating in a stream of lost dreams
that would flow along my blood
sometimes, paralyzing my whole body 
and forcing me to stare at the tasteless fan
hanging from a reluctant roof 
at 3am and 253rd poem in your name.

Swear it on me
you are only here
to create some
new fancy ideas for snacks
and not
the memories.


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