her boogie woogie,
boot and scoot.
her goo bosh vibe,
so small and cute.
silly little Anju stomp,
unaware of self.
bite taken from a chocolate,
stolen from a shelf.
when we are free from this life
we will run in fields
and see the sunset and the joy
life with you yields.

Shapes shifting through the sheets
of paper, in my dreams
soft pillow seams, we move like a gentle
firey breeze -
your shape consumes me.

I have never seen volcanoes, yet my
thoughts erupt in shapes.
What is it to desire a shape ?

A venetian spell of curved brushes to cheeks,
dreaming of the days and weeks I could
lay, still, yet volcanic, staring opposite your face, in embrace and tracing your skin with my finger.

Like a brush stroke,
my muse

what is it to loose the memory of a body?

Every trace and touch
each mahogany blush
within the rush of lust,
a cosmic trust between body to body
and mind, to the Hearts’ justice.

A sketch,
first love.
I cloak and glove the painting of you
moving through new shapes away from
view, yet sometimes with solemn and blue, sly Fate washes water-coloured visions and crimson hues through my mind and i’m reminded of each line, curve and shape.

Oh desire ! What a profound honour
to know a body beyond shape.

i wish i never liked women, there’s so much going against it anyway. i’m a coward. i hate myself. i hate myself for wanting to be selfish, while knowing in the same thought that i’m the most selfish woman in my life. but if being selfish means someday i could look into your eyes several sunrises in a row, it couldn’t possibly be that bad. to see the meadows of wheat surrounded by moss in your eyes makes art from here to infinity look like mud. i would untangle the thorniest bush i could find if it meant your heart was in the middle. i can already imagine my thumb brushing a smile onto your lips, my hand cupping your cheek, while the softest nothings are exchanged. the thought of you, and everything you come with moving into my life sounds like a dream. but it’s not one to come true. i don’t get to let myself get lost in your eyes, running through meadows. my head knows that, my heart strings still wail, i try to quiet them. give them a drink… or a few. but after the glass is empty they no longer have anything to occupy them. and they sing your name again

Thick thighs
I would love to feel them beneath my hands
press my hands against you
feel your body beneath mine
and hear your cry