I asked Jane.
She was climbing down
From the thickest branch of our tree.
"Err, I was up there
reading a novel".
She looked tired, sleepy,
And strangely satisfied.
"But I saw Tarzan swinging away
From the tree few minutes back".
Her Shirt was torn, skirt crushed.
"Oh, He was going towards the town,
Just stopped to say hi to me".
Her hair was disheveled,
Face blushing,
Bite marks on the lips.
She was telling one story,
But every tear of her shirt,
Every wrinkle of her skirt,
Every strand of her hair,
Every scratch on her arms,
Was telling,
A different story.
.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment