In the twilight between sleep and awakeness I heard you whisper three words.
I could have turned around and said them back.
Then again, you could have said them louder.
But an untimely death relinquishes one of all blame,
So I guess it's my fault.
If I knew that the body I was fervently making love to, would, in the matter of hours, become ash and navel in muck and water,
I would have smelt you more intently, one last time,
And asked you how you manage to smell of fresh laundry after two hours at the gym.
I'd let you cam-whore with me in public so I'd have something to frame by my bedside.
I'd have cycled with you slower, farther,
Maybe taken a few minutes to hold hands in the sea without worrying about cycle rental costs,
Maybe spent a little less time correcting your grammar and more time listening to your
Opinions on Bipasha Basu.
I would have made it a point to see what your eyes look like
Naked in the sunlight, and eaten more Tic Tac.
But then again, if I knew, I'd have made sure I wouldn't have met you at all.