Wednesday, August 03, 2005

a bonfire of logs of limbs

don't wake up yet
let your sleep laden smoky eyes
wander in hazy blue hues of dreams

let me caress you with my eyes
for a few more precious moments
as my fingers slide
on your soft, smooth, high cheek bones
let me follow the contours
of your chest, heaving
with shallow, unlaboured half-asleep breaths

irritated with a stray strand of auburn hair
on your quivering upturned nose
you crease your forehead with a flickering frown
and brush it away
a bonfire of logs of limbs
an afternoon overflowing with lazy interludes of foreplay
an evening brimming with unbridled romance
a nightful of rich, sculpted love...
till now, these were a mere recipe
from a intellect-curdling paperback
but the beginning of this day,
still warm with dying embers
- from the bonfire of our logs of limbs -
makes me chant
"love is mine" in the same tone
barbara cartland must have crafted
the love-laced tome of the same name in 1952

i trace an outline of my commitment
round the gold band
wrapped round your sensuously slender finger
and amuse myself with
your upturned curve of a parted mouth
parched for a kiss perhaps
i oblige
my quench not yours
with a feather light brush of dry lips
startled, your doe eyes
open wide - and seeing a familiar intruder
drift back to the land of nirvana
satisfying me
with a rushed return
that also insists
goodbye for now

i go
but i shall be back

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