The Letter Among the Leaves

Tomorrow, maybe when I
Bend down and look under these
Crunchy brown leaves, that have witnessed
Autumns too many- maybe, tomorrow
I won't find that letter, yellowed with age
That was traced by your hand- that the wind
Blew one night away as I sat on my sill-
And read it for the umpteenth time
Saw how your d's started from the top and
Ended at the little round- which was incidentally
Never round. I would stretch my hand out to reach
And you would tell me how stupid I was to hold on
To something so material, so superficial, and I-
Just like the little grey clouds floating by on a cold
November morning, would disintegrate and cry.
And you would- that night- make relentless love to me
All would be forgotten in the spring of ecstacy-
Until we pant back and roll away from each other in the heat.
I would softly turn my head towards you and watch you drift away-
While I would sit in anticipation of another autumn-
And the monsoons would be ruthless.
The letter among the leaves must have gotten wet.