was a veil.

Here's a new piece. It's called Veil. Bit of winter warmth. Hope you like it 
Have you ever been in love with a woman who’s behind a veil?
I have, and let me tell you what it’s like.
For the longest time you don’t even know if you are.
With her.
In love.
Good. Bad.
It’s all behind the veil, you see. All you have are these little clues.
The colour of her nail paint. She was never good at it.
Which is why it was so beautiful when she tried.
Would you still love something you weren’t good at?
Little cues, like anklets.
She could afford to be heard. Which meant, you’d have to go far away.
Maybe you’d get to hold hands. And see the nail paint up close.
She didn’t like holding hands because I wasn’t good at it.
Would you still love something you weren’t good at?
Big cues. Like her eyes. Welling up and emptying at what you say.
Think. Feel. 
Somehow you keep them from spilling over.
Because it’s so much better when she smiles. 
But does she? I can’t tell. It’s all behind the veil.
She didn't smile, she beamed. Hers began in the eyes.
Maybe it was because she wore a veil, 
But I swear I could see it in her eyes 
Before the black cloth over her lips took on that familiar contour. 
And she cried with them too, the black would run down her eyes 
Much before a sigh escaped her throat. 
And found its way into you. 
You wore no veil so it hurt. 
But not the strongest of armors could have saved you then.
Little cues. Like her hair.
Never in your face. Which is why,
The first time you touch them,
It feels like sin. Glorious and beautiful and wrong.
Like the way the veil knows her so well
That it traces every line on her body.
That you cannot. 
Because she wears a veil.
A veil you're jealous of.
Until that one day,
When she finally takes the veil off.
It is sensory overload. 
But then she draws close and keeps her palm over your eyes.
Warm, and surprisingly dry.
"You don't have to look", she says, "but keep breathing."
And you’re glad she said that,
Because amidst all of her, 
You might have forgotten.
But you don’t forget her, no. You won’t.
Because you always loved secrets and mysteries.
And what better mystery than love?
What better secret than a veil?
I have been in love with women who were behind a million walls.
But the stone that I broke myself upon,
Was a veil.