traces of time

pigeon on the sand

“I am breaking up at the seams,” he said,

“you got to know me just in time.”

He closed his eyes and she traced the fine lines

at the corners, softly kissing them

mouthing words he neither saw nor heard.

She wanted to tell him that she loved

how the years have become him,

how the traces of time left their marks

like a pebble picked on a shore line

sea washed, sun warmed and sand stressed

the striae on his contours

the geography where past people,

places and experiences is history,

is the present and the future

and now…

she wanted to dredge the well

of his being, to measure the depth

of his love for the other woman,

to fathom his remaining dreams,

his wanderlust and that of his loins.

she wanted to tease his taciturn lips

but she hesitated,


he gave no sign.

She wanted to know where she fitted,

if she fitted,

in some niche

just as she fitted in the crook of his arm.