Shiny little lights on the ceiling reflect intermittently what’s within There’s no space for our bodies to gasp and that crude cry’s lost in the making.
Shiny skin on my arms potent with sweat and charms of tonight we twirl and twist as if in discomfort. Till the shoe comes off at midnight.
Poet’s Note: If you have ever been to a club on Friday night and have danced drunk without any inhibitions, you will know what I am talking about. In the middle of the dance floor, in the midst of fun, you will have a moment of clarity and self-realization. This little poem is about that.
Not always for me the unspoken. Not always for me the subtle. Not for me the mildly hinted. Not for me the whispered. I thrive on the oft-repeated. In the shouted.I am a writer. By birth and hobby and profession and soul and .... But I am a reluctant writer. Words come out of me fully-formed but with reticence. What about you?
That essence Those hands, that body that caresses who breastfeeds us that gives us life starting an eternal struggle who always leaves his teachings Their loves his consolations That essence that multiplies in the sister, in the aunt, in the
allow me this privilege of seeing you in , the unlit room in a chilly night, alone and guiltless, as night unmask your face, assumed Venus in the cowl shawl, splendor on the door it would admit, the dream of
You’re making eyes,while I make up my mind. Thinking of ways how I’d make you mine, You play that little game where you keep me guessing, You leave me wanting more so you’l keep on teasing, All i need is