Art by Juan Bosco

You are, But an Anxiety Brewer

When you look at me
through those dimly lit corridors
in the faint glory of the sunlight
in the early hours of the morning –
eight o’ clock to be precise,
I fly down the flight of stairs,
cross the road,
and to calm my anxiety,
I get myself a cigarette –
a king size,
to be precise.

When you hurl that gaze upon me,
encompassing that well-braided hair of yours,
I stand transfixed
and wait for your gaze to pass away –
if your gaze stays,
I know I am going to text you tonight
while being curled up in my bed,
my head sinking in the unfathomable depth of my pillow –
the pillow which had your head once sunk in too.


Art by Juan Bosco



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