melted

straight lines are not exactly so

you always put a dash between
the syllables of my name
which i had never noticed before,
paid it no heed
as i made my rounds,
seeping into the earth with fragile youth dripping from my shoulders.

you put a dash between your name
"raw emotion," the phrase overused
yet so fitting nonetheless
with everything i read
like shatterglass in blue hues
humming in my peripheral vision
blooming in alphabets.

a simple line
with such meaning,
buried under strokes of a pen
and notification after notification
received, reopened and reread
could i be mistaken
in taking a breath within syllables?

perhaps not
but even yet i pondered over it
for enough minutes for my brain to fuzz
whirling ruby-red-slippery tornadoes
barking huskies with blueless irises
the slip of my soles, midair
when did i stop running?

what had been
that line, all the moments
from one point to another
within us both, finite
and electric-shocking
and title-finding and bouncing off ideas
and absolutely worth it.