It's a collection of some unbounded poems which somehow might pattern up to the psyche of different phases of our lives. It's how Q/A soliloquies permutate and combine and conclude subtle life events and their chronology. But the question paradox sh...
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I like your breath nearby- O kisses do i seek. The little tremors when hands touch and cease. The sweat when the fingers cross by... Her sweat seems to be an aphrodisiac, nevertheless her presence. It's just that these little things mean a while- A time's block dweller's vine Blooms of petals as soft as her peel I devour the Nectar of her Daisy by my lips, As the Juices reveal- The elixir of her satiation...
O do i hear by... The call of her desires- As the fingers guide me in, To delve into the wrinkles of her skin And yet...certainly not get anymore of her divine being... As we get tranced by the rhythm of one's breath in this sensual trade.
Your physique is par victimhood of decline.... Nevertheless, it seems ripe. The glaze of your sweat keeps me keen, To explore you everyday and still feel unquenched.... But as we succumb to satiety We part to sleep. As Many words and stances remain undone... And somehow the uncalled gestures remain unthought of.... Yet...we choose to part to work like whores... Who just happen to sell different part of their bodies...
Why did we even collide to find ourselves compatible? Probably...some decisions were spontaneous enough to be exempt from hitting back. Yet...why do we question the sheer affection? Did we fall apart or- Are we just bonded to some kind of gratification... Nevertheless, i miss those little things.... But it seems i am loosing a big one too cuz- Even if it feels heavier, It's hollow allthrough... As i keep on searching you... Yet i find a rue.
You like to keep things to your self- To keep the other things sealed. Yet the unknown marks by your neck remain unhealed... As you grasp my shirts to find what both of us have happened to loose- The scent of ourselves. You smell different these days... And you expect my collars to be clean.
We aren't fools. We just happen to be the next door modern hypocrite- Who lives a life of a social failure. Yet we chase each other at times... As we smirk away the sighs in the name of sarcasm.
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Ups! Gambar ini tidak mengikuti Pedoman Konten kami. Untuk melanjutkan publikasi, hapuslah gambar ini atau unggah gambar lain.
