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I knew her
Well what do you call it?
Some sort of a knowing
Like parts of her body
Maybe something of her being
That much you can enter
With your parts or your being
I don’t like silly things
So she never tried the stupid words
Only left a smell that I sometimes
Vaguely remember like some faces
We keep mixing with others
No, Sir I don’t feel like going and
Talking to her
After the dinner is over
Only kill the time
(How long they will take
To serve the food!)
Caressing the bulge that grew
Between the memory and the now
Softly uttering her maybe
Not so pretty name
A millionth part of what we are not
Is also what we are
Sometimes.
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