Misfit Lovers

There lives someone,
Far, but a stone’s throw away from my lane,
Yet twelve inches only,
Down my brain;
Who replenishes me
With fragrance
Long lost within the withered petals,
Of roses scrunched in my diary.
There lives someone,
Maybe quintessence of
first summer rain,
Yet twelve inches only
Down my brain;
Who quenches my thirst
For the impeccable peace
That I failed to find anywhere else in the crowd of words,
But in her chaotic silence.
There lives someone
Who makes beauty of eternity go in vain,
Yet twelve inches only
Down my brain;
For she always becomes the personified sky,
And I, the sea;
And we, as misfit lovers
Make love endlessly
Where our ends meet.

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