I Want To Love You

I want to love you;
as twilight comes to bring respite, to the time of reflection
upon the day gone by and awaiting
to be renewed by the sun—
such is the allusion to enthused season,
to every fiber in my being which the day heralds.
I will let you set the pace,
for only then can poetry drink from the rain—
I don’t know what hits me more, rhythm
or mere limitations of language;
perhaps conflict of every nature is what keeps us going.
I watch as lips curl around the rim of the glass,
around purpose, around punctuation,
leaving behind a painted streak that begs not to edit—
I am brave enough;
for what is emotion but a road upon which we are called
to travel?
I harbor a wild, insatiable appetite to live blatantly
in my audacity to be me; I want to love you.




Photo credits: Richard Blunt Artwork, Pinterest

Words Used: Allusion, conflict, edit, pace, punctuation,
poetry, rhythm 💝

Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United

Is Your Sweetheart Edible?

Is your sweetheart edible?
Like butter on toast to break in half and share;
like rising to first rays of the sun,
together in bed,
tell me, “does the feeling put you on edge?”
I write poems on the supple skin of his wrist,
his collarbone,
like one would serve raspberries in a bowl to ingest—
I crave him,
his mouth erotic, decadent, safe and dangerous,
compelled by a longing far deeper than corporeal—
are these feelings licit?
I fear nothing nearly as close can satiate; just as cheese

is salvation of the taste buds,
the sighs in his chest emanate cleansing showers
and ken—
it’s crucial that I hold on,
like budding blooms become one with his sacred loam;
is your sweetheart edible?




Photo credits: Pinterest

Poem inspired by the title of Late Carolyn Kizer’s poetic
masterpiece, “Is your sweetheart edible?” 🍰

Posted for Open Link Night #270 @ dVerse Poets Pub


If not for the creamy herb chicken

in a flavourful and creamy herb sauce with a hint of garlic
on a weekday
is deliberation; why is there always a deep shade of melancholy
on the windowsill?
I coat the chicken breasts with onion and herbs,
season generously with salt and pepper.
The intellect chooses its own social gathering;
I chew upon this piece of information as the concoction
no longer pink inside
heats with another two teaspoons of olive oil and sauté garlic
with basil and oregano—
there are people who are generic, they exist within their own limitations
and shun
the ones who seem even a little bit different— I am a rebel
I thought, adding cream;
I refuse to be in the centre of the pan like cornstarch,
quickly stirring,
until acceptance like sauce has thickened slightly—
explore the world,
so often it happens that creative minds due to societal pressure
limit themselves.
I return the chicken to the skillet,
sprinkle with extra herbs and serve immediately—
there are moments
when one has to decide between following destiny and fulfilling its purpose
or succumbing
to the vengeful, the demented and the sadists who work together to form
an organized conspiracy to oppress others in the world.
to feel deeply is not a sign of weakness,
it’s a medium that sets us apart in society—
so much so that
when whispers of approval or contempt float across the room;
you will know—

“if not for the creamy herb chicken.”




Photo credits: Guest House by Yakira Eppel, Unsplash

Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United

Buck Moon ~ Part Two: Seeing Things

The moon is a slice of paranoia tonight;
of reflection of things that provoke the naked eye—
I am lost
but certain of silent footsteps that accompany me
as the hills darken.
It’s funny how the human mind works,
when faced with misgiving
and lethargic when lounging, when at ease—
love, I am aware of peeling away of minutes,
of shadows
that lurk astutely in the subconscious.
The rustling of leaves;
I have stood many a time at the doorway of dreaming,
attended circles
where people moan with disbelief— what if I told you
that seeing things is another name for siding with truth,
would you side with me?
Would you step outside your comfort zone?
Would you take the leap?
The watery embrace of the sea;
there is a thin line
between what’s real and what the world wants us to believe.



Photo credits:  Reflection by Serenity Mitchell, Unsplash

Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United