golden sandals like marigolds are left behind
in an uppity world
&chipped nail-print on prim toes—
his pink kerchief is smudged
like the season of no return.
a lover looks for lice on the long tresses of the beloved,
fingers nimble,
but calm on a rotten evening.
wrapped together in rapture, the wet ground is slippery
like the tongue that is on its way home.
the screen light turns sharper than the old lamp
where mosquitoes love
and die in a daze.
.
© Anmol HA
HA's Place 
smudged/ like the season of no return….
like the tongue that is on its way home…..
so much to like here!!!!
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As always, you present beautiful and haunting imagery, this poem in particular reminding me of what we all yearn for, which is to have our hour undoing while our love is still unfaded – as opposed to it being the cause of our undoing.
Wonderful to read you again, Amnol, and I hope you are safe in these weird and difficult times.
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