LOVE

love is not what it is

so long as there is a sense

lying bleeding white

along your presence,

sending signals out and in

a stranger who

left without leaving

his business card

mortal dust

on hidden talents

flying up in the air

fogging the view

everything goes over rated

everyone goes over prized

as love breathes life

into a lump of clay

stuck in the throat

love has the texture

of raisins on breasts

and nipples in

shady summer vineyards

love sucks like

a well rhymed

metrical romantic poem

explained to

kids of another tongue

another clime

love is not

a person, place or thing

it is tables

memorized after

a maths exam

love is humidity

lingering in armpits

hair cascading through

spread out fingers

cocked ears

harmonizing to the pitch of

unheard answers to

unspoken questions

love is barriers

of age, caste and gender

missed calls and mislaid letters

of not being there

when you are most needed,

as always

CATCHERS WANTED

getting caught is an art

just like leaving no traces

when the curtain falls

and applause rises

leaving the hall

down a dark corridor

also is an art

pretending to be oneself

falling in love to cure depression

quoting citations

flicked out by other tongues

etching graffiti

about love making

on stubborn walls

is just applied art

so is the pungent talcum powder

on a genderless face,

applied thick,

overlooked much

see I caught you

how I missed you

we all like getting caught

we all like being missed