The Visitor

And one fine noon,

I shall come to you unannounced,

and knock at your door.

Donned in a turmeric-stained apron,

disheveled, sans make-up

you shall open it and become a surprise.

"I am hungry," I would say, and demand lunch.

In the dining- room, where blinds filter in the hot sun,

you serve food with a baffled smile.

Are your tastes the same, you might ask with a smirk?

and I will rise to kiss you in reply.

We taste each other and are satisfied that

it is the same sky with the same number of stars.

We pair our fingers and are happy they number the same.

Sunlight ebbs out of the dining room.

The air roams about sheepishly.

We sit across the table, over a cup of coffee.

How beautiful it is to dream about being in love!