The Weekends

The ground has gathered our shadows.
The spell worked.
I’d collect our eclipses like dried leaves
and crush it in our garden.
You know, the leftover love makes
a good fertilizer for a fading passion
and might curb some pests
like your virulence towards me.

I am not toxic, am I?
I love you with all my heart
even though it beats hardly
in your absence.

I’d plant soft kisses
on your neck before the
urge to asphyxiate you takes over.
My tender hands love to
fondle your thighs or
scrape you with dagger-nails,
depends on how you behave.

Do you want to leave?
I will let you go but
with my pernicious influences
groping you at the midnight hour
of my baleful madness called love.

Oh! Wait. I did let you go.
Is it the episode again?
where I wanted to hurt you
but wanted to change
for you too.
I am re-living attachments.

Damn! These weekends.

Weekends are the repository
of zombie memories
and I’d curtly admit
I get a little joy
in getting bitten up
and behave like a lifeless insect
exposed to be stomped on.
The only antidote is Monday
that splashes reality too hard
for my senses not to spring it open.

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