He held the letter in right,
It, minutes ago was lying in her left drawer.
His gaze scanning
It all through,
Twice or more, probably he lost the count.
Writings, more to be called just the acquintance.
Smell to be acknowledged as his mistress.
The ink screams,the outcome of his absence.
How ironically he summoned her to be called his.
His deep thoughts, digging the long buried pain out
Which he swallowed back months ago.
Denying it to be not more than the sour wine.
Knowing she wasn't a player,
Assuming himself to return even before his absence will struck her cold mind.
Leaving the ground,
Showing his back not even turning around.
Miseries were the opponents
The game of chess began,he recalled.
Rules changed and she knew none new,
Exclaimed the ink.
She lost,says the next.
Deep breaths,he exhaled
Surfacing the guilts,he was sure he has veiled.
You bid....you didn't bid me the farewell,he reads,
Losing every grip of his own control.
She continues,"I let the wounds deepen,
My gaze still fixed at the entrance, feeling empty, myself crumpling,deep beneath my breasts.
You knew how potent our love was but all they stab me with....."
He drew his hand back
Yet other's fingers tracing the marks of red, turning him blue,
".....yours one of the illicit affair."
