The lovemaking

The hem of my body is paper

and my tongue- the silk threads of ice cubes

The night spreads its monotonous tone under my moan

the voices that erupts my chest often,

about your skin:

about your name:

the existence of the Sun inside your wounds,

the mouth opens and a soft touch sits inside

The touch is of your scarlet memories

the sea beneath a mountain.

Nothing remains to be said now.

The body demands a blindfold

a language beyond comprehension

it wishes to float

to tear itself apart

with veins that sing songs of Spring.

And here,

a thing blooms too.

A thing exists too.

And here,

madness is an unleashed song

on my forehead of desire

like eye of sin protruding from all the corners

soaked in a desperation

counting backwards the hiccups spend under the sheet.

23 Comments

      1. A day off. I will try to write. A hard week. My neighbor house burned down and the husband was lost. I was the first person on the Site of the fire. Now, I am gathering my mind again. I saved the wife but. We always wished we could do more.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Oh my ! What a sight it must have been! I am sorry for your neighbours though I am sure you must have done your best. It’s better to be thankful for the actions small or big does not matter if done whole heartedly.
        My prayers are with you and the family.

        Liked by 1 person

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