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“And what part of me will begin To forget you first; the sudden Pains that shoot to my bruised palms As I think of you in the cover of the dark, Or the invisible hand Clutching at my heart, as it knocks against its savage cage, Or my still swollen lips As they remember the touch of your gentle fingertips?” — Sreesha Divakaran
And what part of me will begin
To forget you first; the sudden
Pains that shoot to my bruised palms
As I think of you in the cover of the dark,
Or the invisible hand
Clutching at my heart, as it knocks against its savage cage,
Or my still swollen lips
As they remember the touch of your gentle fingertips?