I steal. 
I steal you away from your laptop
Into whose glare you fish
For the strained brightness
And aspired automation of dreams
Only, you understand them wrong
Dreams aren't used to automation.

They are built from the romance

 Of exasperation.

Of figments you inherently know

Are not yours to live and die with.

Dreams are what I have
Which steal shreds of reality 
Into a make believe world
Where you're not endlessly staring
Into your painfully flawless machine. 
But my eyes. 
Just my eyes. 

(My once brown, then golden eyes.)

And then in my being.

I steal. 
I steal from you some touches. 
Cheap, you'd think. 
The problem, my dear, is, 
Each time your bump into me
Or your hand brushes my arm
Or you casually tousle my hair
A million tremors assail my skin
And that which lies deep within. 
Your innocent touches
Embolden me 
To plant deliberate caresses
On whatever of you 
I wish to consume. 
You might not know
But my head resting on your shoulder
Is the least innocent act
My mind can conjure.

(While I am at it, 

The pain of my thoughts,
Only heaven may endure.)

I steal. 
I steal you away to the moon
No less. 
And there, I force you
To force me
Into violent, cheesy lovemaking
With six time the passion
And one sixth the weight. 
You lie light on my chest
Even as your heavy breathing
Pretends to cover
My uncovered, undiscovered lust..

Did you hear the sonorousness?

Of a heart learning to fly

And cry again? 

The taste of the tears

Is like a jolt into reality

As if salt existed

Only to scratch and wound the stealth

I employ

To gain you. 

I steal. 

I steal to realise

What I stole from you

Belonged not to you

In the first place. 

I steal to erode moments

Off MY limited life span

Placing happy packets

Full of airy airs

In fancy showcases

Of a humongous villa

You and I built

In a stolen moment of intimacy. 

These happy packets

Would burst and cackle

And bring down the villa. 

The only pain of which

Could be felt in my heart

(While you'd continue to stare

And pester for automation of dreams.)

I steal.

I steal but fail to realise.

If I am cheating you,

Or slapping myself a challan

(Calculated in time and heart units)

For yet again jumping

The danger signal

And stepping on the desire path

Through sylvan silks

Leading to the lake

With enough water

To drown me proper. 

In the world of metaphors,

No theft goes unrewarded.

But love does. 

And so, the lover in me

Will continue being a thief,

With loot

Than being a lover

With love cut loose.