Of Love and Lust ..


By the dusky luminance of the slow evening, I tear off my restraints, one after the other, controlled and calculated. You fold the distance into a few steps and toss it out of the window. Lust hovers its wings upon us and blesses us with its relentless desire. And we dance to its tune, willingly. The fire in the hearth pales in comparison to the dense plumes of our insatiable yearnings, lingering along our bodies and sinking deep. The silence, so alert with uneasiness, freezes in that moment of infinity where I touch your lips and read the poems of winter in them with their coquettishly vagrant verses. You curve them in a smile and a shade of ivory looks through, scattered in a designed fashion, whispering tales of timeless enchantresses.
And I envy you, for being a being apart from my being. Your skin is a river of gold where I swim, and drown, voluntarily. In the dim pallor of winter nights, we dance, like a moth to flame, like a flame to moth. Our fingers entwine, and so do our words, more materially, more intricately. And we relish upon this prose of our passions, caressing every single letter and crafting new words with remarkable diligence and devotion.
The fire goes out but we turn the world alight with the heat off our bodies, with snakes of sweat lingering and entwining into random shapes. Our uneven breaths mingle into strangely coherent rhythms, one after another, held and withheld. And to this ungodly music, we sway under the naked eye of the yellow caricature of a late moon.
Every brush against the bronze instigates the serpents of pleasure which pour vials of a queer madness – and unto that madness, we devote our night while the seconds tread ever so slowly by our side. In our full arms, we carry our moments of fulfillment, intense and consummated; consummating. And when the culmination arrives, the world stops existing for a second, becomes still, vanishes and all that remains is us, you and me celebrating mortality without any wish for anything holier or godlier. Then it all turns into an uncontrollable contour of colors and ecstasy; sheer ecstasy.

0 love for me ..:

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I believe that it's the ordinary that is so distinguished. I am only an amateur who sees the mundane with a twist. Goes around putting titles on self-perceived moments as life goes on by...
 

Cranky bitchi`ness ..

“I can read women. But god damn you woman, you’re all over the place. If I could read you I’d be god” -David Flecha

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I believe that it's the ordinary that is so distinguished. I am only an amateur who sees the mundane with a twist. Goes around putting titles on self-perceived moments as life goes on by...