Complaint

every morning i see my love
and sit him down,
for extended complaints,
over creamy Malabar Monsoon.

(he doesn’t always listen,
he's distracted by my singing anklets,
but i sit him down nonetheless,
and open my heart for him.)

sometimes my love,
i think you’re here
only because of the coffee.
i complain, daring an answer.

he laughs, and emboldened
by the kindness I hear,
i stop him from spooning sugar.
the spilt grains of sweetness
melt in my tears.

where were you
when the motorbike boys,
put wind in my hair
and drove me away from you
at thought deafening speeds?

where were you when
the drummer boy played
fast and loose with
what i thought was my heart?

or when the traveler
carried me away
across sunsets and moonrises,
but could not reach
the far corners of my mind?

don’t you dare smile
and give me an answer
that you always do.
they were shallow waters,
and i was but learning to swim.

if indeed they were, and i was,
tell me why you wait now?
when my heart is truly touched
by one who laughs
just the way you do?
by one who makes soul renting promises
you know he will never keep?

tell me how much further
do i fall, until you save me
from myself?

how much longer
do i have to wait?
how much do i suffer
before you deem me worthy
of your eternal embrace?
before you color me Blue?




(malabar monsoon is a wonderful new coffee i have recently discovered...)