“Under your skin, the moon is alive”- Pablo Neruda
My body has gone counting
The twists and folds of your skin.
My hands have carved a tattoo
plunged into your chest,
where a basket of sunrises glitter
like the moon’s hideous smile.
I have heard the murmurs of your heart
where white earth blooms.
Like sagacious door-knob,
And the small key-hole,
where I flow like mesmerizing dust,
Aurora hair sparkles,
golden Orion of moon slice resists in you.
Crackles, splinters, chills, winters
found in your wet earlobe,
as I walk upon the moist earth,
my sagging dreams
only to meet your infinite luscious skins of skin.
That night was like firecracker. Galaxy overloaded with the stardust. The hums of two souls on this bed sheet could be heard above in the oblivion red sky. The music that our touch produced, the chains formed of lust, the golden promises, the congruence of love. That impeccable mystery rocked the spaces above, it rained heavenly like our jocund voices were heard. The smell of your skin mingled with the Celebration flew across, through the fields brushing those mustard crops and to the valley declaring thunderstorms. The collision was into our breaths, into our sighs.
I saw you bitting my tongue. My pink tongue.
My moans took the form of transparent dewdrops, it was a paroxysm of fire and ice, gliding through your sturdy caricature, flowing diligently into your mind. Creating motif. Chemical formula finally lingering your colossal enigma. The intrusive knots of passion.
It was the thumping of our heartbeats, the intoxication of love, the caress of your touch, making me that fragile flower blooming in despair. A lotus. A shadow of your soul dancing on Earth.
P.S -My poem Soul on Soul published on Spill words. You may check my work here.