By Neha
The holes in his shirt,
reminds me of water droplets,
running off the glass pane,
joining fellows to collaborate,
taking to the end of race.
Hoarding all the dirt,
hidden reality it reflects,
space they want to gain,
it arrives and you'll be late,
makeup can't hide that face.
And when they finally flirt,
like a wonderful Long lost couplet,
holes wiping wet from last night rain,
few moments together and one will evaporate,
till next rain longing for embrace.
By Neha
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