Mushy

Our texts are becoming sexts,

Our names are topping on the college walls,

We were drooling the honey called love,

No time define the relationship status,

Poetry became our Pincode number,

Which resides with us,

Poets are roaming around us,

To inspire from our cosiness,

Flowers and rivers are waiting,

For our union every day,

Ilayaraja's tunes are asking us,

For slow-motion dance moments,

I don't know how to say this,

But I am becoming a bit mushy,

Don't make anything to trigger me,

To become hopeless romantic,