Don't weave on my skin,
As it has the node of buds in,
Weaving may be too cool,
When the buds start to sprawl,
Scribble on my screen,
The naughty look in your eyes,
Neatly modified to your whim,
You are I are made for fun,
When I hear your heart beat,
When I smell your arm pit,
When I am slipped on the road side,
When I am drowned in the wash basin,
When I am overcharged and feel the heat,
When I am out of charge and in dark,
When I am post and pre paid,
When I have no balance to touch your ears,
When I am slammed for no apparent reason,
I look at your face with tearless signals.
veeraiyah subbulakshmi
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-hand-and-a-phone/
