A Dried leaf at my door waited in vain
for a whiff of air
that might blow it
in your hair
but then leaves are destined to decompose
unless they are saved in the intimate folds
of a book
of stories
which narrate
how in market of IOUs,
accounts of every touch, feel and smell
are displayed
may be my breaths are slow enough
to to let this leaf
lie there
for a while
till
more curses
in places of caresses pile