A whisper in your ear,
that stirs you, in your sleep,
like fingers of a dream, wind I am,
that caresses your high peaks
make you nod your head
in a sweet pleasure, not known before,
moaning softly wanting more and more,
permitting the flirty wind to take liberties,
his fingers wandering down
while you feebly try to stop,
in a half hearted way.
I am the transparent cloud,
that wraps your alluring curves
with the Kashmir shawl of fog
when the bleary eyes of lecherous sun,
fall on you and you want to get away
running fast from that humiliating moments.
The spring that oozes and drips,
at those moments of intense urge,
it seeps, flows through mossy brooks,
till it finds it way for true fulfillment
I am the fire you dream,the warmth in your
intimate moments,for the fulfillment in the alter,
all dark residues are burned, made pure
my joy know no bounds, when you become
my alter and I your holy fire burning warm and slow,
The breeze that undulates your globular fruits,
with gentle hands to give you goosebumps,
fills each of your blank page with the gift of poetry,
and sing your songs till nightfall and then crawl,
to your bed rolling over to my side not to sleep.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
A whisper in your ear,
that stirs you, in your sleep,
like fingers of a dream, wind I am,
that caresses your high peaks
make you nod your head
in a sweet pleasure, not known before,
moaning softly wanting more and more,
permitting the flirty wind to take liberties,
his fingers wandering down
while you feebly try to stop,
in a half hearted way.
I am the transparent cloud,
that wraps your alluring curves
with the Kashmir shawl of fog
when the bleary eyes of lecherous sun,
fall on you and you want to get away
running fast from that humiliating moments.
The spring that oozes and drips,
at those moments of intense urge,
it seeps, flows through mossy brooks,
till it finds it way for true fulfillment
I am the fire you dream,the warmth in your
intimate moments,for the fulfillment in the alter,
all dark residues are burned, made pure
my joy know no bounds, when you become
my alter and I your holy fire burning warm and slow,
The breeze that undulates your globular fruits,
with gentle hands to give you goosebumps,
fills each of your blank page with the gift of poetry,
and sing your songs till nightfall and then crawl,
to your bed rolling over to my side not to sleep.
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