A thousand desires, sweet and salt melt over my eyebrows and tongue. Slowly and steadily skin burns and tans. The ocean filled in a balloon glass breaks the giant concretes on the shore and pulls me back to you. If I write an ode tonight, it has to be you. If I hum a love ballad, can someone listens to it. The whistling branches of Gulmohar beside my open window washed in the moonlight bow down humbly, head lowered. The buried old, crumpled love letters still heave and breathe in a mysterious hope in a forlorn place. The rhythms of the heartbeats and rhymes of the word woven meticulously culminates in you, in perfect ecstasy and a quiet melody.