Tides had turned since that day when you sprayed perfume on my wrist and we both lingered over the fragrance like a semblance of our smoky selves had gotten wrapped in that smell. Your amber eyes were delicately misty and tenderly topical. Your face was a riot of colours and the summer sun beat down on our backs as we sat huddled together like two kids who had seen Santa Claus descending down the chimney on the fabled Rudolf the reindeer.
Since then, the monsoon was bleak and autumn days were exercises in delayed aesthetics, the landscape singed with our swallow song.I collected over the months pastel-colored books on water and country gardens, scented rooms and tales of old shrub roses to sustain me through these days of wintry landscape until the new leaves bud again in joy and hope.
And then spring was when we first allowed ourselves to get lost in each other. There were colours, lights, marigold and music on the streets of Kolkata, perfumed in the thick incense of camphor and jasmine. A giant cosmic dance on the precipice of ecstasy. we were just slaves to that flame of passion, burning, burning, and then reigniting from those flames, singing to the beats of a lovelorn song.
Yet, we may have spent countless nights making love but didn't articulate those three words. Maybe, we didn't feel it necessary, or maybe we didn't feel it at all. it was just us, two youngsters, enjoying our short time together. your eyes were dark and luminous, flashing with lust and we danced our way down the lanes of a crisp, devouring passion which ended when the summer began again.
A short-lived romance but sullied with the unexpected pain of parting and the longing to recreate the sparks of long ago.The short, northern twilight, the low light and the dark woods call us back to our hearth; lit with brooding memories of stunning spring mornings. But we have both moved on since then,a dn now I look at a new boy's eyes with such tender love that the woods weep in joy.