Catche Memories

When I bunch all our photos 
and delete you, the device 
declares that one hundred and six 
MB is freed. It looks like a brief 
period, or we didn’t love being 
photographed with blue sky 
or adorned walls in the milieu. 

In the backdrop, it seems, we had 
a constant potted cactus.

I smell petrichor everywhere 
in the desert and see 
a dustless surface after not wiping it 
for a week. Those deleted pictures 
become an auto-memory. 
The act of deletion repeats, 
but the contents cleansed gain obscurity. 

Oh, rain! Why do I dream it though? 
Monsoon makes my guts bleed.

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