Delhi

The cold is its own cave.
The dream pops and crackles,
rapidly cooling after I leave it.
I close my eyes and it's dew in a cavern.

A jar full of ribbons;
shreds of her colours
cut from his soul,
released to the wind
flying
showing her the way.

In the dappled light
There's a change in direction;
Refractions of me.

Aforethought

I walk in the spaces
between the real
and the imagined.

Like moths to flame,
we are drawn
to the chaos of our shatter.

Melting into rivers
of ink
I pooled into poetry;
Where nature settled
into a smooth embrace
stirred only by the wind
and fishes.

Too intimately tangled
to unwrap these thoughts
of mine, from yours.