A Flashback

Now and then, I take her
on a walk back in time,
holding her velvet hands.
As the gears move the reel
of my life, she chooses an
age, quite distant.

The day he learnt butterflies
were to be held gently and
the captured ones, tightly
held on to small stones.
All the jars in the shelf
had been explored, his tongue
had taken tamarind’s brown.
As it grew dark, the full moon
had left fewer than hundred stars,
each one was touched and counted.
Then, slumber had swallowed curiosity.

Now, as she presses his
sprouting fingers to her lips,
she strokes his unkempt hair,
he curls up in her lap,
trousers wet.

P.S: Happy Anniversary, dear. Many more happy ones to follow.