That night, under this solid mess of stars
she told me, the world we have
was sitting by the silken roots of her palms.
her lips tremble and shake with every word
And she shivers as she strips her jacket off.
"It's freezing" I whispered. "Put it back on"
She took out her pack of cigarettes
And neared her mouth against my ear, and replied,
"This would keep me warm".
"Of course" I told her, "of course."
She puffs the nicotine out with smiles
And mercury sweat drops trickle down her spine.
--you see, breath left my lungs before i could speak--

"True." she muttered.
"True?" I asked her.
"Yes. True. It's true."
I did not understand her.
Her lips were not anymore trembling
But dried out in that freezing night.
"What is?"
"You."
"I?"
"You. True. You are true."
"Of course."
She took out another stick and lit it with her butane lighter.
Her hands were whiter than snow.



"I'll have the world someday you know."
"Yes, I do."
She stretches out and her eyes follow mine.
I was speechless.
"I love you." she told me.
And I told her I loved her too.
But she shook her head, and took my hand
And cradled her cheek on it.
"Not as much as I do."

Under this solid mess of stars,
I told her I had the world by the roots of my palms.

It was her.

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