(1964 - / New Delhi / India)

Desire

Under the soft translucent linen,
the ridges around your nipples

harden at the thought of my tongue.
You — lying inverted like the letter ‘c’ —

arch yourself deliberately
wanting the warm press of my lips,

it’s wet to coat the skin
that is bristling, burning,

breaking into sweats of desire —
sweet juices of imagination.

But in fact, I haven’t even touched
you. At least, not as yet.

User Rating: 4,0 / 5 ( 1 votes ) 1

Comments (1)

Oh, spell binding sensuousness.. The last stanza was anti climatic though...