I want to bite the flesh of your words
And let the juice of your truth trickle down my throat.
I want to inhale the scent of your joy
And graze upon your sadness
I want to devour your pain
And consume your pleasure
I want to feast on all parts of you
And relish every mouthful
Until my belly can take no more

A short stroll up a lonely lane
Wild flowers filling the hedges,
Romancing our eyes
And flirting with our noses.
Inquisitive cows
Leaning over rickety gates
To better inspect us interlopers.
A broken path,
Crevices straining to trip us up.
A five minute dander for us.
A dangerous adventure in unexplored territories for them.

Hopelessly entranced
      by the dance of poetry,
              and vice versa

A swashbuckler
who sharpened
    his sword
upon unkind
     poetic words

Her tongue like a whip.
Her words lashed
Across my back
Leaving weeping welts of pain.
A balm administered
To ease the hurt
But the memory
Lingers.
Spilt wine
Can't be put back into the bottle.

The only cure for mood poisoning,
             is writing more poetry.

To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the ****** disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.

                       - *Arundhati Roy