Stepwells

You left moist imprints on my shirt,

tugging at my navel

with your sensuous interruptions.

When you made soft designs

around there

with the edge of your lips,

my body tingled

and sighs fulfilled us.

Leaning your head

to linger on my chest,

you practised your first notes

of liberation

at dawn

and accepted me

as your paramour,

on that day

when peacocks

unfurled their plumage

to enter the garden.

**

Cold fingers,

sometimes circling right,

sometimes left,

made delicate forms

to quench desires

and draw sighs before

a noontime nap.

A moment

that gives the body

fragrance of flowers,

its brightness

and lies

on the other shore

of unkempt desires.

Just like on a misty morning,

we both

sit

without a shred of adornment

on these ancient stepwells

and the call of the hummingbirds

offer us sensations,

imagination,

and our innocence

In the Dimly Lit Room

Shift the cot away to the east

but don’t break the aura of silence

in this dimly lit room.

Sometimes you tend to place your feet

on my chest

and sometimes you hold me tight

around the shoulders.

**

The day wears on.

Your habits get colder.

Then you

use the soft delicacy of your lips

to caress my nape

and shoulders

and the passion trickles down

my whole wet body.

I,

slumped like the evergreen

compliant lad

under your impulses,

sigh.

Then I cover your upturned face

with the pillow

and curse you.

Don’t knot away your bundle

of impulsive desires on my navel,

is all I ask.

Drench me in the humid moisture

of this town.

Don’t let me wander

thereafter

in the sludge

of your bedraggled,

worn out excesses.

Cover Image: Pixabay