When She Met A Crush Across Half A Wispy Decade ...

I once mused that that frown of yours,
Forming as you mulled over matter, manner and method,
Was the furrow that channelled thoughts in your head!

Those three seconds of an amused naughty smile that you allow yourself,
Before hastily shrouding it with the staid solemnity suited to the stage…
Where your words and you are a concert symphony,
Where manner and method fall in line with matter,
Like method in madness,
Like the synchrony of a hundred violin bows with the song of the soprano.

Half a decade doesn’t bother to write over these…
So did I realize as you Clad in a disarming pastel
Cambered words on to an easel that was the audience,
Your rhythm becoming an anthem…
As your words painted sensibility with a brush dipped in allure.

As I found my articulation zipping itself up and tiptoeing out,
Even as my words tried to yank it back by the collar.
That rush back from the teens…
Which reddens without rouge
And freezes without ice
That part of me which I thought was far behind me,
Frozen in animation on a page from History,
Proffered me a hand that evening
And introduced herself as the nineteen year old me
Oh how I had looked for her in lost and found columns!
Ruing at her older self for her increasing collectedness,
Her casual immunity to the (c)harms of the Y chromosome,
And her lost acquaintance with heart beats skipped and voices trapped in the throat!
Enchanting it was to meet her again,
And know that she lives dead and well, …but hibernates for good!
For if she comes out more often to soak the sun,
She’ll end up musing and writing poetry on her crimson coffee break as she watches the rain fall!

Mr.Mission-in-Motion, a Victorian bow to that evening that brought a touch of teens to my twenties.
As I waltz back to being a lady in composed control!