All the songs that could be,
have been written—
for you:
choruses of love and death are sung
about you.

My time starts and stops
with you.

Cupid's arrows cast long shadows
over deserts of solitude.

Sand-smoothed dunes of memory
carved then curved by rhyme,
concavely and convexly.

Her Eros complexity:
nightly name games,
the daily delightful.

Polaroid celluloid:
daylight-filtered,
colourful kindling,
fancy fuel for neurotic fire.

Those synapses tripping wire after  wire after wire.

Spitting lover's stutter.

The perfection of your existence
whirls in
then whorls out of my existence.

A tornado of torrid desire
splashing
then crashing into essence:
the ebbing tides of our emotional  insides.

Tears of joy
or frustration:
wet and warm.

Caring for each other,
erring on the side of desperation.

Passion for one and the other
orbiting on the edge of obsession.

A willing wallow in the depths of addiction.

I watch cooking for joy
I love it
When vapours rise
The scintillating smell
Fills and arouses my nostrils
And my mundane mind
I like being blown away by this juggernaut of joy,aroma
Sensual satisfaction
I enjoy
The spurt of cumin
In rich oil
I love the
Dance of
Mustard crackling
How asafoetida
Sets the stage on fire
How curry leaves sound
Being sauteed
Only to come out
In an enchanting form
The fairies take centrestage
In this cooking dream
In vegetables
As they simmer
And get coated
With raisers of
Your taste buds
And assume
Magnified beauty
The pot turns into
A flurry of colours
You seem to get lost
As you gaze in wonder
Then the splash
Of tangy lemon
Juiced to Glory
Comes only
To leave you amazed
Fresh coriander
Basking in glory
Of it's green leaves
Makes it's debut
To leave you amazed
Your senses overflow
And in case you're
Not done
With this
Mesmerizing magnificence
The Majesty of food
Has more to offer
Your mouth starts watering
And you slurp it down
Enjoying every moment
Attaining some containment
In the form of good food!!

Sorry for forgetting
Something necessary
Salt it is called
To be put for sure
But without haste
To suit ones taste


Foodgasm someone?

There it was.
Fragmented. Almost Frozen. Shattered. Unrecognizable.
That beating pulse was still pumping strong as I stood stunned, staring, my eyes locked on this image lying on the cold cement floor of that subway station.
I bent over slowly to get my hands on this life source, swept the glass aside the blood stained organ with my freshly manicured nails. Pulling the fist sized swelling instrument closer to my body that was dressed in prim attire. Slowly I straightened my spine to standing.
Shards of glass gashed my fingertips, spilling the matching color of my nail polish all over my pristine pumps.
Scrambling to dislodge the obstructions that aimed to cease the existence of this life piece.
My collared tucked shirt drenched in red, rolling down my pencil skirt and splashing to the gray surface below.
Still in oblivion as to how this was tossed from the speeding subway train through plate glass at full speed and landed at my feet.
Feeling the warmth from the struggling ticker, every emotion within my body came to life as if one large breath had been forcefully blown back into my lungs, all the vibrancy that dulled to near death became bold....and it dawned on me.
I unbuttoned my blouse.
Spread the flap of the shirt wide open.
Reached under the bones that held my ribcage together...to the hollow portion of my chest...I drew my hand back out...fell to my knees and wept...I had become so cold and automatic that not even I had known that I had been waking up daily without one.
I gripped that essential piece of existence and vowed to never do it wrong again, To listen, to follow and to love...carefully filling that gap in my chest and breathing sincere passion once again. I had found my way back to me.

Copyright © Natasha Ivory Evans 2016
Self Discovery

If you were to undress in front of my eyes
you would see the reflection
of your soul
weakening my bones and masquerading
my heart
For my everything,
I love you

From His Perspective

To do better,
is all we try;
but the only way to be truly better:
is to die.

LNI 2d

It's Sunday inside me.
A witness to the sweet joy of a life without attachments.

Love is something thrilling
That sets your soul shrilling
Unexpressed desires flow
Like shivers down the backbone blow
You're unnerved sometimes
But you do love it
You feel on the top of the world
You know
You're gonna be healed
Of every wound
Till you have your reaper
The redeemer of your soul
Beside you
Looking into the depths of your eyes
Wanting to get lost
Perhaps forever!!

I stand by blind lovers
Indeed.

somewhere
deep within
the heap of
habit,

a forest dusk
hum echoing
through ages
and time,

clean as a shroud,
pure as a womb,
await the embers
of a bonfire...

Trees
hold hands
in the wind
and sing.
New little green
buds come
bursting out after
the rain.
I was surprised when
my friend snapped off a green bud
and
compared it to an optical illusion.

copyright 1972 Verlie Burroughs
going way back here
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