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 Aug 2015 Anshuman sharma
Urmila
Leave,
If you must
.
.
.

But return,
Before I'm dust
 Jun 2015 Anshuman sharma
Chris
.

I don't write
poetry,
I write little pieces
of my heart,
hoping
they will
*touch yours
Your eyes locked with mine,
Shifting back and forth between each,
Trying to read me like a book,
But your concentration was breached.

As you slowly inched closer,
Like a wolf stalking its prey,
I went against my natural instinct
And decided I needed to stay.

You grabbed my arm and pulled me in,
Close enough to hear the cadence of your heart.
I felt my own and realized our drums
Were playing the same exact parts.

In that moment you kissed me,
Slow at first as if to feel every cell of mine.
As you gradually intensified your suggestive touch,
Our bodies began to intertwine.

Your moan reminded me of a growl,
And I was ready to see your teeth.
My skin yearn for more
Of what you were hiding underneath.

Your hands, soft to the touch, seemed to change,
As if they transformed into paws.
All I felt was the digging,
The digging of your protruding claws.

Because I was ready…
I was ready for the irresistible pain.
Because any feeling I get when I’m with you
Is a feeling I want to remain.
Love is a wonderful thing
Her eyes are nothern stars guiding me
Her smile is wind in my sail bringing me near
My Magellan eyes scan her coast and sky
My words, a cartagrapher drawing her every curve and line
I sail an ocean of curiosity till storm of her desire
send me crashing ashore
Let my heart be run aground upon her chest
Let me be stranded upon her lips,
My hands castaway in her hair
And wander her silken seashore
Love has led me to a New World
I want to explore every part
I have found the great fortune of my life
in her untamed, wild land
Like Cortes, I burn the ships
May I never be rescued
Stiletto heels and a push-up bra,
Hair piled high, bleached and toned and all…
That’s the way you used to shuffle around,
But you ain’t been much since your man went to town.

Who’s that a’ worrin’ bout them wrinkles and lines?
Is that the same broad who fell for all his lines?
Well, since he left you all you do is frown.
No, you ain’t done much since your man went to town.

You could’a picked a man who would’a cherished you
Once upon a time when love was fresh and new,
But you picked the one who was known all around.
Now,  you ain’t known much since your man went to town.

(Interlude)

You could’a picked a man who would’a cherished you
Once upon a time when love was fresh and new,
But you picked the one who was known all around.
Now, you ain’t been much since your man went to town.

What’cha gotta to do to make it right
Is take your piece out of your purse, it’s a Saturday night.
What’cha gotta do is shoot him down,
‘Cause you cry too much since your man went to town.

(I'm still tweaking the arrangement. It should have an upbeat Little Richard or Ray Charles rock-n-roll mid-upbeat tempo with possibly hand claps on the downbeat like a spiritual chorus... since most early rock and r&b; musicians got their starts in small black southern Baptist churches. Let me know what you think. If it *****, tell me.
Notes are posted below the body
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