She linked her fingers to his,

While walking down the

Smoke-filled street.

He let her clutch them,

Bristling slightly, involuntarily.

The lurid streetlights

Glared askance at the

Dark silhouettes

Presenting an optical illusion,

Appearing to merge into one.

They spoke tardily on the way.

He dropped her off, at her

Doorstep, amid unfinished

Conversations, a few dozen

Unspoken words.

The refracted moonbeams

Illuminated the slender

Curve of her neck.

He planted a patronizing kiss

On her cheeks and left.

Sometimes these moments

Were too exciting to get by –

Moments quivering with

Frenetic tension, colored with

Redolent passion, moments

Fraught with tender possibilities.

They walked beneath the squinting stars

And voyeuristic streetlights.

He whistled sometimes

And flashed a wolfish grin.

He called her a condescending polymath.

She basked in the warmth of

His breath, caressing her face,

When he spoke;

Words borne on whirls of

Engulfing cigarette smoke.

He talked of politics and law

In an energetic, husky voice.

The animated tenor soothed her.

Words were forgotten,

Hardly ever attended to.

They became instead a mellow,

Sonorous tapestry,

His rippling voice lapped at her

Like waves around a

Bereft, sequestered harbour.

He watched unblinking,

When she twirled her hair

Away from her face with

One sweeping, dismissive,

Fluid motion.

He watched when she strolled

Languidly towards him,

Betraying an air of

Graceful torpor.

She rested her head on

His square shoulders,

When they sat side by side.

He suppressed the thrill

Of electric superfetation

Of flesh on flesh.

She laughed at him, when

He flicked out his lighter

With an impish swagger.

He liked to call himself a

Liberal interventionist.

They threw pebbles into the sea,

When the sun went down in

The sanguine blood-red horizon.

They wagered who would throw

It the farthest.

She won most of the time.

He attributed his defeat

To his faulty evaluation

Of trajectory.

They were comfortable.

Perhaps, a tad too comfortable

To change the order of things,

To knowingly rustle up a storm.

It was too pleasant and fulfilling

To risk suspending it all on

An impulse, to explore each

Other further.

It was a healthy arrangement.

It was how it should be.

Long walks, in and around campus,

Along the beach, the extended shoreline,

In fragrant parks and littered sidewalks

Alike, snatches of conversation, a

Disagreement or two, eating out

At bistros, a movie or two and

A shoulder to doze on.

Walking together, matching stride

For stride, interlocking fingers,

Brushing shoulders, repressing

Certain synapse-frying electrochemical

Signals, walking, meandering, strolling,

Perambulating as long as the strides led to

The selfsame destination;

And an amicable parting of ways,

At the crossroads,

When priorities change,

When ways diverge,

Never to converge again.

Long walks and lingering gazes,

Soft sighs and sweet nothings,

Peering through drawn curtains,

Stealing a glance or two.

This would do for now,

At least for this season.

Aneesha Roy