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ryn Apr 2016
There isn't a place for us
to exist in the day.
The magnanimous sun reveals too much
for common eyes to see.

But come night,
dimmed lamps be our aide.

We sink into each other
with little reservation.
We overlap, intertwine
and merge.

Inadvertently blending
into darkened backdrops,
we get absorbed in our very own
shadowplay.
K Balachandran Apr 2016
"Amour is the most intense kind of sweet fever,I can vouch that
When it's clandestine, the effect on victims is much more acute"

As the trembling example of that condition, she whispers in his ear,
Between adventurous  samba steps, every one watches agape.

"Don't you know merciless girl,that's what makes me go pale quickly
in your presence,this illness is mutually induced, that's for sure"
K Balachandran Dec 2015
When she opens the door partly
without any noise heard,outside
to let him in and close it again
the lovelorn moon gets jealous
a still cloud transforms in to an
eager ******, shameless and stares.

The smell of danger present in the air
heighten the thrill of them not being
just another regular pair of lovers
who could  easily meet,when they wish.
Such secretiveness adds a spicy flavour
to their forbidden love that stealthily moves,
to deceive the spying eyes everywhere.

When she opens the door to let him out,
a snow owl, startled, wakes up and hoot,
His way of saying,"Some things happen"
the moon, off color and tired of waiting,
let's out a sigh, like a breeze and acts coy.
Y Rada Oct 2015
Can you smell the scent of passion?
Mine - my pheromones sprinkling tonight
Baptizing you with my ardour and lust.

Let my voice guide you sweetly to your end
Whisper to you the delicious promises
Whiteness and warmth comfort me for tomorrow.

Can you feel the slightest touch?
My feather-like kisses blow your mind
Engulfing you in satins, laces and ribbons!
Raingoaway Aug 2015
When I had your arms wrapped around me
It felt like I was on top of the world
It was exhilarating,
Intoxicating,
But at the same, forbidden.
Deep down, I know that I left a part of my heart with you even as I pulled away.
Herein, laying dormant,
    veils of reposed
      secrecy 'neath
       foamy seascapes'
              frenetic passages,
languishing below
   sunken treasures'
     false facades of
        reticently rolling
            shrouded bluffs,
 shaded of darkly impetuous
        hued blood in
          unceremoniously
             bound convolutions,
a million ancient
     undisclosed shadows hidden,
     notwithstanding combative
        rumblings of death's
         unwelcome sycophancy,
depths of centuries'
         old unparalleled stories,
 whence hush-hush
       undulatory influx
          of defiant upsurges
            and turbulence reside,
     that of which only the
          winds of indiscretion,
                 clandestine spirits
                      & gods could surmise


*...as  privileged moons watch over amaranthine skeletons
MissMew May 2015
We are the capricious youth,
desiring farewell from monochrome stencils etched onto our once blank canvas destined for a mixture of hair dye, blood stains, and beauty like no other;
a band of misfits.
We are the abandoned bunch,
free from moral restraint and expectations of perfections as the reigns break from the hold of their eyes piercing in fury with a judgment heartless and rigid;
Fugitives from the box.
We are the bats in the belfry,
mad as hatters and rich with curiosity, the true descendents of Alice with our cheshire grins and cups shattered at the edges creating our own wonderland in lost treasures and spare parts;
welcome to Wonderland.
We're are the criminals of time,
Our minds yearning for adventures of mass destruction to ignite the fires in our eyes as our hearts lust for one night stands and temporary lovers until we find whom of which tames the beast of our innerworkings;
Our perfect mistake.
We are scientists of our generation,
experimenting with love in temptation of others and blissful passions not specified by gender, but by the content of their character, and they who love purely scream ******* to those who say otherwise;
Pride is not prejudice.
But most importantly,
We are who we want to be:
The girl with the colored hair and artistic skills unparallelled by others,
The boy with the piercings and mathematic expertise who incipient a revolution,
The timid girl with the voice like an angel's who soothes the souls of those damaged by fear,
The boy with an ear for accoustic melodies and a taste of eccentric chords with the potential of a thousand choruses,
Or the those who haven't the idea pictured yet,
We are exactly who we make ourselves to be and the creators of a portrait by our hands,
That is how our story begins.
MissMew May 2015
How I adore those fleeting moments
Wrapped in lace and tender touches.
Those intimate instances where the heart is flooded by butterfly kisses,
and the body ignited by fire.
I long for love's innocence
By the voice you whisper late at night.
I long for love's passion,
By your lips pressed gently against my own.
I long for love's warm embrace,
By your arms when the world crumbles beneath my feet.
But most of all,
More than anything,
I long for you.
My love.
My kerosene.
I only wished,
You longed for that love too.
You
Ink and paper flowing as well as my blood; in time I’m missing you
My candle gets older and a wisdom whispers I shall not waste every clandestine
You’re the reason why verbal runs out and paper planes lost their way
I shall commit
K Balachandran Jan 2015
Anger, is the steaming red on her face
refusal creates in an instance;
jealousy is foaming green
profusion of colors in motion
takes this dance for them to upward
and downward turns,
or a sudden dissolution---
an intense ****** in unison.
Even in darkness he  can see the
spasmodic ebbing waves
sleep is the banana plantation
where night wears translucent green
"nobody would see us here"
she whispers in his ears,
as if they are thieving ***,eyeing
the yellow banana she likes, to play with

Purple is the psychedelic color
smeared on horizon when
dreams repeatedly fly down
like night bats and happen
the way mind designs
we don't want to leave the scene
of the dream even when we know well
that the show for us is now over
we just want to hang around
like the dog,  in the place
it  got a juicy bone.

Yellow is the banana song
that's heard as wave after wave,
by the blind bat squadron
that roams with raw aggression,
for raids above the plantations
Unripe bananas show green fingers
to say "NO! we aren't ripe"
like coy underage virgins.

Then, they ripen, go yellow
some even bright red, inviting
who is blue here is the sky
and those bats who got
the bananas still raw green

Night decents on the banana land
as the white umbrella of sun
is snatched by the dark maiden.
Black is the bat's wing extending
and folding like lust, umbrella and the like.

He finds her shivering fingers like a serpent,
on the banana trunk slithering down,
as he dreams bats, banana, blue sky
and she slithering over him.
Sensuality connects, colors, assorted things  and places that become symbols for experiences , ***, lust ...
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