It’s night for you. I wonder, now, if
Rahu, the snake that swallows the
moon, (Such weird appetites our Indian
snakes have.) hops across the smoky
urban skies, from my city to yours.
Celestial snakes putting up performances
of gobbling the moon. When sitting,
I ask you with eyes, how many hours
are the lovers actually together. You
tell me you are sleepy. That you will
call tomorrow. Suddenly whisper “Your
today, my tomorrow.”. Yes, yes, I nod.
By now I know. I’ll be waiting.
We speak for ten minutes. You forget
time. You hear the soft gurgle of pearls.
Remember, that it’s evening.
How could we hold hands? My today’s
hand, your yesterday’s hand. We find
a quiet corner, in which our words float.
We pour love into these cusps. Across
the globe, a crescent runs, (or meanders).
We sit on the ends. Holding our phones,
touching our keyboards, you
say, this is love, across the longitudes.