poetry

Season of moist talks

reading a book is the most relaxing part of my day
with our bodies colliding
this night sings a song of petunia,
a soft spring blooming behind our feet.
A velvet yawn of a quiet afternoon.

The night is a tiny flower
thumping against the sun-kissed breaths
a hum of summer,
a hum of winter.

The mouth dipped in the greasy elbows,
a pathway to the flowering petals.
Silver droplets of water,
the body shrinks like a caterpillar now,
sparkles of the rain,
Too many screams now,
too many abstract bodily postures.

This night delivers a tangled knot of whispers of leaves,
like salt, the whispers rubbing our elbows, quietly.
Hushed.
A season of moist talks.

Buy My collection of poems “Crimson Skins ” here.

For Indian Readers check out Amazon or Bookswagon.

12 thoughts on “Season of moist talks

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