Monsoon

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Darling sir
if you are like me
in the search of love

Let me advise you that it is unfashionable to wear
so much intelligence in eyes
as exquisite as yours

Pedestrian love is now too twittered to enjoy
the algebra of graceful flirtation

I know you will wince
You were always better at sensing crudeness
behind the heat of absolute words

Tongues of words like Happiness and Nationality
Spirituality and Paris and Democracy and Hitler
never quite melted in your mouth
the way they do in mine

The thing is that I think I lost at least half
of the happiness of your perfume
and most of the spirituality of your shoulders
to dreams of a better future

Today when a man casually touched
the back of my hand with his thin, sweaty finger
and talked about his favorite video game

I missed for a second your sleepy lectures in bed
about the liquid contours of the White Nile
and the invisible sketch on my spine
mapping the dancing winds of the Indian monsoon