The Weekends

The ground has gathered our shadows.
The spell worked.
Iā€™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.

Iā€™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.
Scatheless.
Is it the episode again?
where I wanted to hurt you
but wanted to change
for you too.
I am re-living attachments.
Again!


Damn! These weekends.


Weekends are the repository
of zombie memories
and Iā€™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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