Your moon-dipped fingers
Needle me to noises
White to the woman next door
Anthem to my muffled beats
Still-air silence
glazes over blaring sirens
of a clock ticking louder than usual
an old car paving on a cobbled street
the hushed click to a creaking portal
and the thrush of August air-leaks
that cool my cheese-strung breaths
before braiding them over a white sheet.
Inaudible overtures to a song
we strummed to the beat of
Sever. Stitch. Repeat.
Shalini is a thirty-something in-betweener and romanticist with an undying love for tea, bedtime stories and dark chocolate. She is a part-time writer who began experimenting with writing poetry towards the beginning of 2019 to find herself irrevocably in love with the art form.
She envisions herself as a published writer running a BnB with her husband in an Italian vineyard some day.
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