#104: The geography of my tongue (part dos)

Nerves tingle
Electrons jump
Neurons spark
The taste awakens
My senses
The chill goes through
And reaches my brain
In a warm summer’s night
In this cold clammy routine
Cold caffiene
It registers
The taste buds alive
Around the glass
Dipped inside
Swimming for more
The fix.

Soft lips wet and wanting
I find my way
Through your gate
And enter in to find my friend
Together we play
Dance and explore
Tickle the palate
Brushing against
On this cold icy day
In this warm fuzzy place
Senses aware
Eyes closed shut
Chest heaving
Sweat beading
The first kiss.

Recall the digits
Dial the number
Hang up and re-check
Mouth dry
A sip of water
A nervous ring
The salutation
The roll of your name
The movement
Of utter grace
And sensuous sound
On a rainy evening
In this drought of emotions
“Can you hear me?”
A crackling
After a moment
“Yes, love”
The word.

#102: Tarmac, Leaves and Whispers

                What is sexy, then?

Your voice.
And there’s a light breeze here.
And a leafless tree is hiding the full moon.
It wasn’t cloudy a while back.
The night watchman in the alley beside my window is blowing his whistle like he always does, tapping his stick in a rhythm; a cadence. 
And the dogs are barking, I can see them but they aren’t loud.
It is all so mellow. Soothing. The kind of night when you sleep well.
                I love your painting.

Painting with words?
I’d paint on your bare brown skin
Draw alphabets with the very words you love so much
My fingers touching your clavicle. Going through the shoulders and reaching your back.
Slowly, I shall spell out the words, while the dogs bark distantly.
Your winged scapula arches backwards in sheer ecstacy as I write.
Words, such a turn on.

And as I tepidly inch closer to the words that you want impregnated on your body,
I sense carnage in your mind and warmth in your body.

I spread over your being like oil over water.
Never becoming one yet like
A painting of light with its nonchalant beauty
Reflecting, bursting, beaming with the million colours that we know of
We make a

                Painting, with words.

Words, such a turn on.

#103: The geography of my tongue (part uno)

In the roll of your name
Against the chill of ice
While tasting the air
Inside your mouth

Exploring within
Licking the envelope
A letter to you
While sipping on tea

In a silent squirm
And loud screams
At the peak of a touch
In the warmth called you

Finding the crevice of a bone
At dinner with you
Wetting my lip
Pudding for dessert

The latitude of it all
And the intersection
At the longitude of ours
The geography of my tongue
Through a few deep sighs
And one helluva poem. ; )

#101: Colourless poetry

This is the first of the few poems that I had written in less than a week. I will share each one, everyday, till I exhaust my options, which will not take many days, don’t worry. Heh. I hope you have as good a time reading them as I had while writing…

In a myriad of colours
And fragranced plastic flowers

Among kisses of lust
And a few peddlers of dreams

Between sentences of meaningless words
And proses of bartered promises

There is, but one truth,
This black and white poetry.