Behind Drawn Curtains - A caravan of poems

Cologne

As the clock ticks by,
stealing these untouched moments,
I lay awake in bed,
toss from side to side.
Restless heartbeats like hammer,
shatter my burnt-out flesh.
I smell in the dormant air,
I search for your heavenly smell.
Though I gaze at the roof,
my eyes can see beyond,
I see you spread yourself after a frantic day.
as your smell thickens and grows like froth.
Is it the cologne you use, or
your skin that has melt,
I cannot make out from here-
and I miss your divinely smell.
Days back when I had you for me,
my fingers counted endless waves
across your chest,
my palms had traced mountains crafted from your arms,
and my lips brushed the forests of your skin.
I think that is when you must have happen
to use something ethereal,
spraying generously over yourself.
Was it your passion or a feckless madness --
I cannot say for certain;
but I saw you leave behind,
a part of you, your haunting smell.
I have searched for you since,
in the folds of time, in the shards of hope.
I have searched behind the skies,
beneath the ocean beds.
Did you leave your shirt hanging
from the nimbus cloud?
The shirt which was deep sea blue .
I saw your socks tossed over the horizon,
one of the pair gone missing somewhere.
I sigh and close my eyes for a second,
I hope not that you are still a mess.
As hapless as I am now,
drowning into a deeper mess myself.
After some time, while the clock is still ticking,
I might as well hate you, for not letting me cross over to your world --
where you draw territories with perplexes,
hate you for towering makeshift shelters as excuses.
I will might as well hate you for masking yourself, but
There is still time remaining, as the clock does a full circle.
Till then I must continue to immerse till oblivion,
In your smell as you smell of the earth and the ocean, of the wet sand and the mountain copse.
Until you are no more but a fossil soaked in sweet and musky cologne.