I think I love you
But this is not important
What is important
Is that the sky’s painter
Tonight chose metallic grey
And highlighted jagged contours
With the seeping amber
Of the dying sun

I think I need you
But this is of no significance
When the leaves of the tree
Outside my window
Are being battered
By the sneering rain
Fresh buds dancing and drinking
In masochistic ecstasy
The lifeblood, the nectar of growth

I think I miss you
But to what use
While the heady curves
Of a perfect hip
Are begging your lens
To immortalise them
And a breast cheats the light
Casting shadows of doubt
Even as elasticity falters
And gravity plays its ace