You took all of me, as I breathed in your empty walls. Walls crushed with silences, doors, windows creaking with uttered words, pregnant spaces, skewed lines.
A mouthful of want resurfaced from your nooks and crevices when I entered these doors in the sweltering July heat, my own expanse of tranquil space, embedded within your unceremonious folds.
The kitchen fried, baked and burnt our scarlet togetherness till its last dying embers. In its light and flame, I stood by its side, garnished with the aroma of Indian spices cruising down my hands, softly peeling, chipping away as my cold fingers worked on the music of the tap waters. I had been been pulled into the daily grind of wrinkled rituals, tight, tighter every moment, my feet shuffling, stumbling on the bare floors.
Our breaths, arid, hovered over each other’s ears as we slept, hugged each other in bubbles, foams and dreams, swayed, reclined, faltered in our untamed beds.
In the laundry, amid the pile of recycled clothes, slammed and shoved inside the soapy rubble, my hands nibble on the grains and dust of our unlettered years, lathered with our sweat, smiles, smirks, mockery, our quick bouts of tempter and tears.
I knew, in this soft, breezy rustling of the leaves just outside the windowsill, when the whispers of the early fall urged me today to take its last couple of bites, that you would come back to me again, in refrains, in bite-sized chunks, urging me to fork and gulp down yet another chunk, one more, till I shut my mouth on you.
I will think of you, ruminate and chew on your fruity chunks, the seeds of your wayward memories teasing my tongue. Memories which I would scratch and turn into a gash of remembrance, those would remind me why I had been egged on to escape, to fall an easy prey to the blinding lights of a newer, more opportune terrain.
Inside my sulky, verdant soul that has always lusted for more, inside the wellspring of my restless being, I will carry you in all the dusty years in which we have waxed and waned, fought, coaxed, cajoled and sided each other. I know I will step out of your doors, moist and lost, while no other soul will realize how much I will still smell of your old salt.
I will leak and blow out, every once in a while, looking for the old, dusty bends where you tossed me, turned me over. Till then, I leave you, trampled, stained, stopping a while to wipe your tears, and then, walk out of your doors, forlorn, pondering.