Say what of these verses, whether they be clever or raw
In the end they’re just words, limited and ill formed
For what escapes these lips in the shape of a moan or a soft prayer of sorts
Mixes with the wind, and the scents of a season long since gone
They tantalize the air, in a way, no word of meaning could ever hope
And escape in the night sky, among the stars and the eerie cold
And were I to say your name, in between the ragged breaths I draw
Mayhaps the universe will pause, to hear its lasting hum
And etch it among the constellations, it shall
Not your name, but the yearn that laced it
A DESI MUFFIN 