Hello Stranger,
Done with the Roka,
It's a pre-engagement ceremony,
But right now,
I don't know what I am for you.

Next will be our engagement,
Then I'll be your fiancé,
And you'll be my fiancée,
But right now,
I don’t know what you are for me.

After that we'll have our marriage,
Then you'll be my Dharmik wife,
And I'll be your Sworn husband,
But right now,
We're strangers for each other.

Let's make it easy,
Let's share with each other
Our likes, and the dislikes too,
Let's be friends until we wait,
Let's get to know each other.

You know about my weaknesses,
It's apparent and obvious,
But behold, I descend into your life,
I have my shortcomings,
But I have my gifts too.

You'll see me spreading joy in your world,
And you'll realise that your world is mine too,
But don't worry,
Just let my love grow in your heart,
Next I'll plant a ring in your finger.

That ring will mark you as mine,
You'll put a ring around my finger too,
And this particular ring will mark me as yours,
We'll be each other's fiancée & fiancé,
I'll make sure that you are fine.

A few weeks after that engagement,
We'll sit in front of the Holy Fire,
And that fire will be our witness,
And so will be the Àgnì Ðévà,
The God of Fire will seal our togetherment.

Right now you're cautious,
Maybe a bit scared too,
You are in the dark,
But so am I, dear,
Don't worry, I won't disappoint you.

And I know that me you won't dishearten,
We'll gel well beyond the physical realm,
The world will soon see us as one unit,
We'll enjoy each day in togetherness,
And it will no longer be an untitled relationship.

Upon appearance of an untitled poem with no body in my Drafts
<>
never have I ever
written an untitled poem,
nor painted a human sans
a head;  arms, legs, o.k., but,
but when the purging urging
enwraps me at 12:22 in the AM,
i cannot birth my babies
stillborn,
unnamed, forlorn,
it’s every breath would be
an accusation, of breach, malfeasance,
a child nameless, is the worst of all orphans,

the poem’s title is its inner essence, a preface,
a forward, and epilogue, just as your names is
both begin and end, a hint of who you are and from
whence you came, and where you are bound to be bound,
it is your birth name, and final resting place, a hint of who you
we’re, ared destined to become, to be, and to come,
an entitlement!

ah you curse or bless, thy given name, no longer do
you examine it, write it repeatedly, to despise or admire
the sounds of it exiting thy mouth, a roomful of teeth
and tongue in concert cooperating and conniving, silky
hissing your who-you-are-ness, you, who are poem, exist not,
cannot be, without your entitlement; ah you pause and say
to the sleeping woman who neither hears nor cares,
who am I, who I am, and the differences
entre deux
that are my
character

yes, a untitled poem is forever
unwished, unfinished
unwashed?
and to eternity, forever lost,
unsigned, unconsigned,
unfortunate
unconsummated

Some of the best things are untitled

I don't want to love you anymore.
but how am I supposed to make myself fall out of love
with the one who taught me
what love really feels like?