A landscape-


the rivers that speak of us,
warmer bodies
 nectars of jasmine and hibiscus-
a lady from photograph,
biting a strange loneliness sitting onto her bosom
a strange memory of distilled longings-

a lady that sulks and pronounce everything watery,
dreams of wildfire and river-beds

I travel through her caricature,
her oblong drifting fingers,
eyes of pain and despair-
eyes- a mirage of limbs too,
I watch her and think of this pregnant sky

day and night.

She- a soliloquy od soft pastel dreams.
------------------------------


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Blue velvet sighs

Body of coral sunsets slipping underneath,
and I think of your curvatures, silhouettes of water- lotus
a heavy mass of flower spinning upon the moon,
a daydream and slow night

slow as far riverbeds, moaning
quick and slow.
the fingernails hide a slippery naked climate,
fermented by the shiver and body on body

dirty tablecloths:
dirty walls, kitchen sinks melting away
melting like the throbbing blood
blood: so warm and luscious now

as a river riding a star.
I squat in the evening, on the fresh, frozen floor
like  a rose, budding and blooming.

  The pink air laughs and shifts incessantly
between our pastel love, our growing thick bites
the hollows of tongues
dancing.

Mermaids in heaven.
I stare and stare and become the large junction

(Bodies rhyming)

Longings

Story pin image
Longings
My days are cryptic
with mellow songs
sunflowers pressed on my bosom,
on my chest.
My days are usually full of lies and loneliness
with a wildflower travelling through my veins,
Where a mind refuses to sleep,
a haunted manor of poetry painted carpets
   a garden of lover’s daydream
At sunsets I visit temples,
where my sins could fade away a little
 along with the leaves of my hope
along with the tree that grew along with me.
I sometimes wish to marry that tree of hope,
the one that nurtured the oblivious lips of dull moon,
filling it with moonflowers
filling with hanging creases of paper lanterns,
 a fading memory wilt often.
Somehow
Somewhere
Where my body trembles like a low music,
a sister’s ritual of love affairs:
I am not sure what do I long the most
the memories or the moments?

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Crimson skins – US
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Summer-

The collarbone cracks open,
a petal of your name,
a thick cloud of lust
sounds that speak only of splitted grass
I see you
and I think oh 'home'
honey-suckled touch,
tongues:
tongues interwined into sheets of desire
of lukewarm, misted talks
about us and hopes to stay.

           It is Summer now,
a season of orange hope,
golden grass grinning through the wind.
It is Summer.
I am inhabitated by the scent of it
that twirls my skin and turn it into faces of love.

I am a Summer-myself
bleeding through my cold sphere
daylight:
water on my toes
a gossip you all want to hear.
I am Summer for you-
for you to cling onto 
for you to breathe the scent.

I am stoked to announce that recently Indie Blu(e) Published its another beautiful anthology Through the Looking Glass– which includes my poem about Mental Health as the theme was the same. I urge you all to check out the same here .

Have you read Crimson Skins yet?

If not please check it out on Kindke, Pothi, Amazon etc.

Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
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no space to love

source-pinterest

Napowrimo#12

the poppies won't die tonight
I sense the drama through the bleeding faces again
the parched vase of you and me
the horizon of us-
a hallowing question to that equation
     the fields seem  opaque,
dreary, with  white sunflowers
I run and burn
to sniff your presence
to sniff the existence
the love equation to the sky
and to things beyond

my feet seem to be the carrier of our love poems,
enthralled and quiet
almost like a woman lost in translation
Chips in frost.
   cold    barren
as if a tree unfolded a leaf so huge
  
the love rises
and sinks
and stinks,
it breaks and fills the spaces
with things so small
almost like a hurricane,
moths fluttering,
  there is no place left to make love-
not between such damp sheets, at least.

If this is us…

Napowrimo continues

But the thing is everything shall be depleted. This. Us and our stay. What if, I could hold the habit of loving you for once? My eyelids dipped in lemon peel thinking of ways to dream about you. The rooms that still roar about our love making. The walls still cracking a semantic, quiet low noise of our moans and fight. Erratic evenings, whereby we submerge our small elbows in the auburn breeze. I want to cling to the habit of just that. Your coconut hair, small long talks, talks so mellow and crisp almost like I ate my fruit bowl. To hold your poetic words and brown moments of paper noise is all I had dreamt of all this while. To stay connected to your face, slender neck always popping and mind / spring quartet. Nothing else. That’s my habit/ a ritual that I perform each day to listen to the music of things staying lost between us. The Art of a singular dialogue. A singular atom of love. A single You.

Meteors

 


Bones indigo,
lacking a piece of earth,
inside your mouth of stars
a tremor of zodiac signs
Like a Taurus blooming.
 
You sprinkle lust
on my bosom
bubbles of thin colours,
a 4 am  moonlight sigh.
Tender mouths of mud and water,
unborn fruits of the ultimate kiss.
This is us.
 
My hips now like a parched lake.
I am made up of unpruned divinity,
an untamed odorless shadow of sky
between the thick sheets of a dark city.
 
Beautiful sun,
how you grow all over  me,
with a swollen tongue licking my mouth,
as if collapsing in his arms.
Inside my mind, there is a temple.
Rain
Sun
Earth
I will crack my eyelids open, now.
 
-----------------------------------------------
(I wrote this piece a long time ago)
I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it.
Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
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Yellow- a poem

Yellow – scratched and heavy
an unknown desire to melt between the stasis of the sky.
Yellow,
a color that dissolves inside my thin muscles,
my tongue wired up with your name,
a loose sheet of kiss and melancholy,
Yellow: a quiet tapestry that hangs loose
bearing limbs out of balance
bearing mouths dripping foolish sins.
An external pain of the body,
a pain crisp as our bedsheet

I am a bunch of memories that belong to the sky
patched and cornered.

__________________________________________

I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it.

Crimson skins – US

Crimson Skins- POTHI

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A love tale

Beneath my chin
above the nape of the neck
a heralding discover I utter,
a tune of orgasm in sunshine
a tune of roaring diaphragm,
here, I sit and count my fingers dipped
numb and electric,
so much despair
that stares back.
So much to reach
just a hand
cold, cold, cold
and nothing else now.
Limping and stuttering,
between my cold clavicle
with bones so thin and weak
There is a waterfall of endless poetry
dripping from my bosom
a monotone of soft , quiet landscapes.
It spills again,
roaming in a silver night

I produced my book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical.

Crimson skins – US

Crimson Skins- POTHI

Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul

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.

The face of a woman

Model Lexi Boling is styled by Carolyn Murphy in pure femininity for 'Blithe Spirit'. Photographer Sebastian Sabal-Bruce is behind the lens for Porter Magazine #26 Summer 2018./ Hair by Edward Lampley; makeup by Allie Smith.

I imagine the day like a face of a woman,
the mornings so much defined
with exposures and brightness,
polaroids of crimson sky
and the heaviness comes like her mind,
i can paint this lady on my canvas,

yawns in the afternoons,
doping shadows
watching the food vividly left in the kitchen
she knows nobody
but a raisin stuck to her mouth

The flower would lust water by evening
and the lady would nurture it,
each color so distinct,
each seed – a subservience
each leaf unfolding unique stories

by night, light fades away
into a shade of something darker
of gentle strokes disappearing
flooding her mouth, her memories with aesthetics.

The heaviness puts her arm into a state of nostalgia
a perfect blend of papers & ink.
But then we know how things end
with a flustered love for trees,
half filled glass of all things love.z


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The Awakening

1950s Unlimited

Tablecloth,
wet bedsheets,
branches/ twigs entangled
between the phosphorous skin of ours.

Circles of slow breaths
sighs,
deeper of magenta blush
The months become cold.
almost nostalgic,
fever rushing through veins
& chills of hypnosis

against the walls,
on the kitchen slab
we spread our colours
while the black night absorbs our love
through the static throat

But then…
then, then, then,
I collapse
here on your pencil neck
only to watch the mornings again
constant motion, blurring the hands in the sun.

April

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And just like that
between the chorus of the bruised sky,
I slip my set of auburn love.
Sediments of galaxies and rivers
entwined between my outgrown fingers.
Seduction is a way of swimming across your mind, half awake.

These tall trees
perform tensions, fiction,
crickets squeaking,
and a layer of loneliness shifts to the sea of the blank river,

I slide my head against your chest,
the ivory garland of future seasons,
the whistling of galaxies
Bluebells swinging in the thunder of our sheets.

My body shuddering like a torn cloth
arms howling in the wild air.
We lick each other,
a chant for dripping lust
and here I become full and warm.

It is past April
empty corridors of dreams
and I swell upon the memory of
blank sheets,
rattling sky.


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The Affair

Vintage Photo of a 1950s couple in the forest by a stream. See more vintage photos of couples in love at www.vintageinn.ca blog #1950s #love #valentinesday #vintagephotography #1950sfashion #couples
There isn’t a sight that does not make me think of you
of your auburn burning skin in the heat-
a poem so soft on your lips,
it almost is center of all light
I produce
an inflammable kiss
awake
with fumes coalescing into fumes of rainbows
The body rises from something so chalky beneath
an enormous restlessness
traversing nights and days

I wish to remember days like these
beneath my frolic skirt
above my trembling belly
I wish to swallow your blank stare
your stare that revolves like a tangerine sky
with leftover peels of my summer orange.

I wish to remember dry afternoons
with a song inserted in my mouth
a bee that rotates like a tulip
between our fingers entwined.
Like all things of love and soft music.

Desires

38 Sweet Snapshot Show How to Have Romantic Kisses on Valentine's Day ~ vintage everyday

 

Of lust I must speak to you.
This body glows like a river
only too thin to bend over you.

Acknowledge the minuteness spread onto my face
across the loose limbs that floats in the air.

Of beauty –
I come to you,
spreading a knob of orange garden
where the time collapse and stops for a moment.
This moment captures us,
to bind us for a sparkle of glory
Of Tongues and tongues
I dream of point of indulgence
A point that emerges from my bottom to your top-
Plants in the cold rain
like diluted streams of romance

You row in the nectar of my oozing moonflowers
Atop my bosom you sit like a wax
spreading an ensemble of winter dreams and summer breeze.

You do not stop there.
I announce carnivals in my womb.
It does not stop. It glows further.


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The Lovers

/ A R Y A / pinterest: @riddhisinghal6

Walls of the air do not crack
as there exist our stories lingering across the streets.
Our thin cucumber bodies/ oiled between a decade of romance
speak nothing but of arid lips and concave lust
The brooding sniff of the moon
to sink between my large womb.
She often speaks to me of you.
Your abstract ways of unraveling things
behind the layers where mockery hides.
To pleat the abhorrence of life,
your bones are my memoir.
my spot of expanded prints & rainbows..
Make me bend and scream,
your coral colour creaks on my tongue.
To the tress, I wish to announce
a twig suddenly has fallen.