Sillage

Is it in the wind that blows north-east?

Or the plates you licked clean after the feast?

Is it in the raindrops that fall from the top,

Of the personalised ceiling of our bookshop?

Is it in the sweat lines on my palm,

From you holding it to redeem my calm?

That reminds me of that one fine day,

Of the impromptu shower in the month of May,

When we drenched ourselves in the first spell of rain,

And how you and me were not very sane!

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2 thoughts on “Sillage

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