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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
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 ...
Aubrey Nov 2014
I'm not sure how old he is, my step-step-granddad, but that's the advice he gives that fixes itself on my psyche.
Focus.
The act is the goal.
It's the thought of having been and becoming whole.
Focus.
Each event is like a pebble in a landslide.
I take it in stride.
Focus.
I am everywhere and there is no center, no home base, no dock on this river. I'm caught in current. Stay calm. This is perfect.
Each twist in the flow, every rock of the boat, every splash in the face, my being gives chase to  possibilities in consistent inconsistencies, sacred, eternal, geometries. Do our bodies disperse like the leaves that traverse from limb to ground, spiraling down?
Focus.
Where are your shoes? We're running late, and there's no time for another drink. We're out of milk? Look at my sink. It's piled high and I can't think with you  making all that ******* noise. What time is it? I forgot to call... that bill is due tacked on the wall. I wonder if we'll talk again. There's spam where your email should have been. All this time I thought that we were friends. I can't sleep. I'm up too late and I can't sate this need to see what I can make of missed phone calls and mystery texts. That write up? No, I haven't seen that yet. But don't forget, I told you, "I can handle it." Remember? Double. Oh. Seven.
Wait.
Focus.
Breathe in. I'm calm. That's resurrection.
Breathe out. I'm smiling. That's reconnection.
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