The fever broke a day ago
The palette of watercolours
drying in the sun fractured
Like rust peeling off that iron gate
Where we walked the wild grass barefoot
Looking out for ants that survive
Eating at our togetherness.
Our love is nothing but moonshine
But how can I let you off the hook?
You are the butter to my bread
And this is our romance:
A crunch, a snap and only crumbs.
(This is a poem written with the 10th April 2019 prompt of Two Sylvias Press!)
ipsita banerjee 