One last innocent glance before I drink from the liqueur glass

As I would bite into the ripeness of plums;
so, would I attempt to pave my way into your breast—
your breath would catch
as night moves closer to the inception of dawn;
so much of you is already written
into my soul.
A smile, a glimpse into hurrying possibilities;
the long, lush
and riotous reeds of your untamed desire would part,
igniting the sky—
the contour of your torso is nothing less than enigmatic;
it requires attention,
wind-blown kisses tinged with a willingness to explore;
for when we touch
even in the slightest, hushed and most insignificant way,
I am lifted.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Skylover Wordlist: Enigmatic (words found and used after
scrambling are) Tame, ignite, tinge 💝

Posted for Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United 

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

Simmered
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.
Remember,
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