How she glows
when she paints
doors and windows

her coloring skills
create magic windowgrills
trap me in her crush!

Smudges on her face
prints on her dress
does marvel her brush

she goes all the way
to make me lovely day
tempts to cuddle her!

It's how it goes
I move ever close
not wanting to be loser

she gets the naughty whiff
says don't play mischief
come not any closer!

I hadn't expected someone there
already before me.

Only lonely men come here
I heard him through my heavy breath
lonely with nothing and everything.

Down there was the sea rumbling faintly
with the froths painting themselves on the shore
like a sketch in a child's drawing book.

Height does amazing tricks, the man continued,
makes you feel invincible
stimulates you to be sucked into gravity
to fall as light as the feather.

The dusk was wrapping up the light
when I remembered having promised her
not to be late to descend.

There's a man up there, I told the gateman,
Nope, he said,
you were the only guest this evening.

So many to commend,
where do I begin?
I think I'll start right from the heart,
fond memories, wearing a grin-

Pradip was first to reply;
I was shocked, I will not lie-
Read his works and realized
he writes through a romanticist's eyes

Words in the wind favored a collection:
my Cherokee spirit writing in reflection;
Nature's Song meant to focus one's affection
to the past and our surrounding perfection.

Cne' inspired a longing within
to caress her lovely alabaster skin
A Texas beauty and seductress of sin
that I can only dream of, to my chagrin

Jason, who informed of the site
and urged me to let it go and write;
so many words poured out that night,
leading me to now, and it feels so right.

Then there is Jamadhi Verse;
a beautiful person with which I converse-
her poetry so inspiring and freely dispersed
to heal all wounds and dispel any curse.

So many many more,
I most sincerely adore,
anticipating each write, up all night-
balled up paper upon the floor.

William Lacey Turnbull 9-14-17

She has no mirror
but where flirt the leaves with the pond
she comes in the cool of noon
mixing the dark of her hair
with the summer shade
dipping into glass green water
her toes and far above
and all the pond sees
encrypts within the bubbles of rainbow
that only her clothes
swelled in awe
can read.

The sleepy man at the museum
directed me to the balloons.

Ten out of ten shots went astray
proving my eyes are lame
and so my aim.

The galleries were eerily deserted.
(is people's interest in science flagging?)

I looked down the infinite well
for awhile eternally falling into it
recovering from the realization
they were merely infinite reflections.

The man's smile told he knew from my dazed look
I was lost in the mirror maze.

(Was I stuck in all the wrong exhibits
for my age?)

I got a ticket for the sky in September
finding peace in the dark of the planetarium.

At an off the city science museum, August 20, 2pm

~for Pradip~

these words,
a blessing bestowed
upon me, by you,
about us

say kiss me write love me
for all the contextual hints that lie
within and between them ~
"gloriously adhesive"

a monument to our five years
of living together,
the friction of our grip upon each other,
under one roof, in a land of
no matter
what the language,
what the alphabet,
we are the prime,
a living example,
of the human~poem,
a glorious adhesion*

from only love poetry,
I rename you here,
only love Pradip


Pradip Chattopadhyay ›
whisper me a title (you, the acquired taste):

Acquired taste,
for a habit sweetly indulgent,
gloriously adhesive.

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