The whiskey dark water conjures
memories of you,
suffusing the skin with the softest of blushesβ€”
distance stretches adamant and yet
sometimes it feels like we are close enough
to breathe in deeply,
like the sharp, brackish aroma of air present all around,

I take it you already know
we tend to look into things which are better off unseen,
the sweet poison of a lie’s flavour is pungent
it’s the coldest of blues
that makes us question everything we have ever known.

A handful of earth, dew on a wild rose
and gospel
is every bit ecstasy and is every bit undeniable;
I am gloriously indulgent when left

to my own devices,
my body with its curves swirls
and caves in to the boundless depths of the sea.
A Poet lives two lives,
one on the outside and one in the mind,
look into the eyes
and see an abyss, if you look long enough
you could sink into it;
take the time and read the words,
similar to the waves that send chorus of voices.

I blow kisses to the sea and offer a silent prayer,
hear its melancholy sound,
you have a beautiful way of making me harden
and melt at the same time;
perhaps I have turned wanting into an art form,

my ribcage like a conch shell where you can hear
a thousand songsβ€”
I want them to throb; I want them to throb.


Photo credits: BIRDS IV ON CANVAS, Anna Sidi Yacoub, Pinterest

Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United