Love Story

A love story is waiting with a coating of night. The grief of absence at the junction of eyebrows reads the paragraphs of separation. The line of silence is on the lips, rich with information. Full stops and commas have been drawn on dilemma. The wave of suppressed weeping in the trembling neck is thinking to become ocean at the groove of breast. Keeping one foot at Krishna’s navel the infinity is still digging the symbols of relations. The last episode is waiting at the vaginal entry by wiping the old womb to see the new embryo to germinate at the episode of looking back.