Your One Phone Call

I am growing into junipers you inhale
but refuse to prune
with the scent of new books
you pick for me
Dreaming of petrichor
I wait
and count days
between now and then
when our breath would mingle
and set our tongues on fire
What started as innocuous drizzle,
is now a torrent that drums
against my baked thirst, in rhythm with
clinking of jade and silver danglers
you bought for me in Peru
many moons before we met in ether
Soaking every drop of your laughter
that comes my way
I spring new shoots, strengthen old ones
the scent of your being mingles with my becoming
and come up as a flavor from my lungs.
Stay forever, like ocher hand prints on my heart

nalini-priyadarshni Nalini Priyadarshni is a high school teacher, writer and editor. Her work has appeared at numerous magazines and international anthologies including Mad Swirl, Camel Saloon…

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