He waits for her at the ambit of love.
She enters in anticipation.
He latches the door.
She opens herself up.
He kisses hopes.
She keeps aside the uncertainties.
He clutches his fingers into hers.
She slips into him effortlessly.
He brushes his teeth habitually like every night.
She drinks a glass of water before sleep.
He snores lightly deep in his slumber.
She opens her mouth while sleeping.
He makes exotic coffee.
She prefers hot tea.
He roves around house bare-chested singing.
She throws her wet towel on the bed.
He walks with her along the shoreline.
She sits beside him on the moist beach sand.
He dances with another woman in the bar.
She gulps down another glass squeezing her eyes.
He struggles to explain.
She lets the silence speak.
He turns on the fairy lights entangled in wine bottles.
She listens to their silhouettes’ muted conversation.
He writes about her without writing at all.
She starts her poems with him.
He moves with a gradual momentum.
She runs carelessly.
He doesn’t take the trouble to catch up.
She waits hopelessly for him beyond the ambit of love.