Gentle breeze
Tickles my toes
Rocks me softly
Back and forth
On the swing,
Arms wide open
Legs outstretched
But not quite touching the Fore.
Head propped backwards
But not quite returning to the Before.
Eyes with comfort
Fluttering, closed
Simply suspended.
The Present, the Now,
Illuminating my very core.

Kneeling, I cower
Seeing my merciless Lord
Looking down on me.

I sit, still surprised
At witnessing His greatness,
Oh so fortunate,

To be permitted
In the sanctum sanctorum
of His holiness.

My lips are eager,
But cautiously, taking in
The scent of His feet,

They plant tenderly,
On His wrinkled skin kisses,
Kisses more and more.

Losing my own self,
Forgetting the universe,
Immersed in worship,

My hands in fondness,
Move up His body of stone,
Wishing to please Him.

All fervent prayers
Are at last answered, when my
Deity shudders,

As my tongue reaches
The root of that blessed fountain
Which seeds all of life.

I think
The reason I felt
All tingly, when you asked,
"Ma'am, have you fastened your seat belt?"
was this Uniform of yours.
Why else would I blatantly stare
At you walking towards the cockpit,
Wondering if you'll look as good
Without it?

-Hello Mr. Blue!
How are you?
-I am fine,
And what about you?

The reason I don't wear makeup
Is that I don't want there to be
Anything on my face
That distracts you from Me.
And no, I don't look pretty
Buried beneath the layer
Of foundation and gloss.
Because then, I'm barely there.
Only when unadulterated, untouched,
Does my skin look perfect,
Adorned with the best rouge there is-
Which is, my Self.

In a land where the sun will shine
Softly on our bare skins,
The cool, calm water will flow over
Our feet dipped in-
Sparkling, soothing, tickling,
While we’ll both lazily lie,
Arms spread out, time stretched out,
Truths and worries left behind,
Where the only possible distraction
From each other’s sight could be
That of a butterfly fluttering by,
We'll track, over lilacs and yellows, its flight,
Then suddenly we’ll catch each other’s eyes,
And once again forget the presence of all life,
Just soaking in the profoundness,
Of being side by side.
And my fingers, freed from
All shackles of wrong and right,
Will slowly move over soft, wet grass,
Eliminating whatever distance before us lies,
I’ll touch for a moment, your fingertips,
And I’ll test you, wait for your reaction,
I’ll see it on your smiling lips,
And at last with your heavenly fingers,
Mine will entwine,
To finally fill that love-shaped void in our hearts,
For the union of our souls to never grow apart.

Wait for me in that land, my dear,
Wait for me; I’ll meet you there.

He had suddenly spoken that day-
Gaze fixed at the cup of ice cream in his hand,
As his other hand caressed my hair,
In the gentle coolness of October air-
That whenever he saw half-melted, half-scooped out
Strawberry- soft, thick, flowing, pink,
He would always think,
That when a spoon would run over,
Its smoothness to subtly scrape,
How sensuously it would fall like a poem,
In graceful curve, in rhythmic shape.
"And over the cold, ragged edges that remain,
I run my fingers", he said,
"And I get that feeling- you know?-
When you rub your palm against red velvet?
Yes, that!"

I nodded, feigning understanding, but oh!
How there could be poetry in strawberry,
I had not the slightest clue,
Until he smeared some with his fingers,
And slowly kissed it off my lips.
Then, I knew.