May 12, 2022
 |  34 Comments

Morning is slightly wayward; is wanton
to the extent that birds shy away from—
I am unable to decide whether it is my body
that’s suffused with blush or the sky,
as fingers,
resting on the side trace along the
contour lines of your chest,
it’s inevitable, our souls are opposites
that attract with magnetic certainty.

Lying in bed I think about you;
as the wind is infused with tuberose fragrance,
there is something about the impudence in eyes
that touches me,
that dares me, uncover, every thought
that lies buried,
making me feel sacred, making me feel profane—
and I stare into them
as though waiting for them to bloom,
that’s how much effect you have on poetic mind,
I confess; I smile a lot.

In my mind, I inhale your scent,
your heat; watch as the world falls away,
could the impossible ensue so that we can touch
spaces that exist in between,
could it be so, that I can drink sleek laughter,
the sovereign nose of your chiseled face,
I want to bathe in the rain of your lashes,
as day breaks in the woods,
and morning like a virgin pallid, glides into seclusion
amidst the trees—I am not
easily distracted, but yours is a different case.

And now lips are reluctant; they are confused
between him and the sun,
two bodies releasing one breath,
as curtains witness arrows of delight
that shoot through again and again—
I would write a thousand poems if it meant
words could capture beauty,
spiritual and erotic at the same time,
like an almond
is when left to its devices; come, let me show you
exactly what love is capable of; lying in bed,
I think about you.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Closed glass window by Edward Howell, Unsplash

Posted for Open Link LIVE – May Edition @dVerse Poets Pub