We started our love with prefaces
without a table where contentment
could be listed with priorities —
a table of contents
we love in crystal leaves,
white as delight, transparent,
bound together with a hard cover —
the shell of our hearts
we put love into action
in the chasms betwixt parallel lines
as she moans in sprawled alphabets
and in knotted contextual meanings
we smile in acts and fight in sequels
to be seen as the cast in scenes
at the end of every chapter
as each page flips and drags
till the antagonist is the protagonist
and the latter soon is the former,
we take the climax for a coin;
a head or a tail —
a comedy or a tragedy
and when it ends with a tail
we would see it to be a drama
written by our hearts
with a beginning
and an end
