The Man sitting in the chair...
colourful jacket...funky...
The one you call 'Professor'....
He's not a saint, He's made mistakes..
He's as stubborn as they come,
Pompous,arrogant,ambitious...
Maybe a millionaire...maybe not....
But He's priceless to me.

And while He's there...
please bear in mind,
He'll drive you to despair...
He'll flirt...He'll joke...
He'll smile that perfect smile...
But He'll help...He's generous...
Sweet....
He's totally aware of his faults...
and proud of what he's achieved...

And that makes him so human...
Handle him with care...
But beware,
He's my Muse...Mine only...
So,strange woman,don't you go
stroking his jacketed arm...
Not unless you can be Me,
the one that creates ballads
on Him...
Paws off...
He's priceless to me...

This one person..
I hope..
Comes and reads
All my poems..
From start
To finish...
Undeleted...
My undiluted words...
And realises
how much
He has changed
My life..
And how much
He has changed
Himself..

This one person..
I hope..
Comes and reads
All my poems..
And realises He
is special
To me...
But not in a way
that can be
put into a box...
Lover
Friend
Mentor..all in one?
I don't know...

This one person..
I hope..
Comes and reads
All my poems..
And understands
how much I am scared
for Him to get hurt..
By pain giving
Entities from the past...
And realises
That I will
Stand for him...
Unbidden
Protective
Always..

A decadent Rockstar...
Smooth smart and immodest...
Cafe-au-lait shaded skin...
And twice as delicious...that's my muse...

A smile so charming...
Pleasure of talk early morning...
When the sheets are soft and slippery...
And eyes barely open...that's my muse...

A softly sung song..
No words for me to sing along..
Just the piano taking it's measure...
Deep and sweet...that's my muse..

Sometimes to astound...
Sometimes to confuse...
To run from or pursue me...
An awesome level of ecstasy...that's my muse...

He is always there...
From the lips that years ago I almost kissed...
To the touch that i really do miss...
Perfectly plunging me to the depths...
That's my muse....

Ju ❤

Did you know?
There's a little gift in
each of my poems...
Wrapped...with a bow...
A comma...
An exclamation,
a sigh, a pause,
A lump in the throat...
beat of the heart...
A longing...a feeling..
Put them all together...
Every vowel and consonant...
And that's a poem in itself...

I am an ultra sensitive soul..
And probably when we meet,
I won't say a word...
But my poems will speak...
Because they carry
the weight of
your invisible presence...

And I know that you know...
That these gifts are just for You...

for B...*

I admit...i don't have to..but i do...
other men sought me...
often...relentlessly...
but...
lacked the fire i envisioned...
the passion i desired...
They left me cold...
heart frozen...words dried up
and trance-like life passed..
before my eyes...
the earth still spun
dreams grew dull
almost forgotten...

and You walked in...
with a birthday gift...
a sunny smile...and those hands
helping to uncover
what i had meticulously buried...
using words that left me shaking...
stomach clenching...
my petals unravelling...
moist..warm...wet...
You opened me...
showed me the vast depths...
of my lovely femininity...

Opening my eyes
I turned to You...
allowing only Your words
to touch me..
move me...guide me...
uncovering my rhymes...
and realised how much
the poet me in wanted to be read...
and so i write
and You bask in the beauty
of my words...my lovely muse...
and thrill at my awakening...

and all i can say is Thank You....
Thank You for bringing me to life...

Always teetering on the edge of my imagination...
You exist..
Somewhere beyond my reach...
Far away...yet so close.

Words spill out of me...
Poems scatter like
wilted jasmine on the grass...
You make me so hungry..
Eager to express
My inner self onto empty pages...

Sometimes my poems
Go unnoticed by you...
As you live your life
Unaware of mine...
Endless words...
boundless thoughts..

You are my forever fantasy..
The fuel that keeps me writing..
Feeling...Expressing...
A blue shaded flame..
Flickering..Teasing..Caressing..
Would you let me kiss you,i wonder?
Ravish you,perhaps?
Bite the buttons off your shirt.?
Drown in your eyes without a life jacket..?

You are my special light...
Turning on inside me
When all my creativity is turned off...
You...
You are my muse...
My inspiration of different shades...
A hello that comes everyday..
But never will the goodbye...

How long will i be
kept on edge...?
When will the gush
of a single breath
pierce the swollen silence..
With words that belong to you...?

How long will i be
Suspended above molten desires...?
Escaping through fingers
pressed against my lips...
Spilling out as a rhyme..?

I pause ...in patient syllables,
a tune on the tip of your tongue...
As an uncaged secret...
spilling from your eyes
upon my skin..
your hands unravel passages...
translating the map of my body
in minutes that pass too soon...

How long will i be
in exile before we
find that place...?
Where i reveal every secret,
exposed and shivering
beneath these sheets of purple silk..
tangled in transparent urgencies...
unfolding into a delicate intimacy...
Spent in the ink of resonant whispers...

How long will i be
kept on edge ?
And how far will i fall...?

Unbidden He entered her world...
Virtually,sweeping away her inhibitions...

"I am a collector..." He said..."Every collector has obsessions...And mine are Snapshots..unusual ones...like yours...
Ones that make me feel like You were touching Me..."

"Poems...I write poems...like an endless film...Weaving different strands together...not a snapshot.." I said....

" They're Snapshots...Pictures of fragments of time...memories." He said..."Lucid...crystalline...limpid..."

I quivered as uninvited thoughts filled me...
Him and I...
A secret space...glass enclosed...
Virtually real....
Words that felt like his hands are on my *******...
His body pressing close to mine...
He is there... and so am I...

"Always remember....Your poems are pictures...of things about to happen... And I love the thrill...
of that just-before kind of feeling...
The feeling that it's going to be a great snapshot..."

Bristled haze...
Eternal stubble...
Framing the upward
curve of Your lips...
Sure and gentle..
Long fingered
Beautiful hands...
Constantly rubbing Your chin...

Is it okay to say that I would love to feel that stubble brush slowly against my shoulder?
Hmmm?
As Your lips go for my neck?
Do i now have to take permission...to express that I want to feel
those fingers splayed on my back?
Do i now need to worry that
You'd make fun of my desire?
Do i need to start using a filter for my words?
I don't know...

And so i hide...
behind peals
Of meaningful laughter...
Trying to protect myself
from your all pervading
Virility....
Unsuccessfully...
While you go on jabbering
About stubbles...contours and
searching for a semblance of masculinity...
If only you knew...

"Do you know of
the hours I
spent straightening my
tangled black hair...?
Or the thousands I
spent taming my
curly locks...?
Do you know of
the ages i
spent in front of a
dishonest mirror...?
That lied and lied again about my beauty
Within...?"

And He replied...

"Don’t you know
those curls are a treasure,
My sweet friend...?
When I play with them at night...Again and again...
Wrap my fingers around them...
feeling your original curly sin..?
Don’t you know
those curls are a pleasure,
My sweet friend...?
As they tickle my
soul in their
sinuous intent...

I want to mess your
black hair...
Into a wild naked disarray
curls and more curls..
Spread them with my hands...
Bury myself
in their heady perfume...
And I won’t let you...
No, I won’t let you
Defile those curls...Ever..."

If my Muse spoke...

You say "Get off your **** and write..."
Don't you see...?
I cant bring myself
to write about anything else
anymore,my Busy Bee...
I seem to be able
To write only about You...
Because you are my Muse
And i am your artist...

I want to write...
About embraces...
Open ended wet kisses...
Sparkly eyes and beautiful fingers...
And Boom...
words fill my head with visions...
Clumsily they fall
Into a beautiful mess..
Like bumbleBEEs flying
From a beehive...
Escaping their cerebral prison..
Turning You into a poem..
And so I let them escape...
Hoping maybe you could feel them..
Let them touch You..
Even though you wonder
What to do with them...

I can't bring myself
to write about anything else
anymore..my Busy Bee...
I seem to be able
To write only about you...
because you are my Muse
and I am your artist...

And what good is an artist without its muse? ❤

She seeks nothing more
than an inside desire...
for an outside gesture
A look maybe...
accidentally touching her skin...

She seeks nothing more
than a longing...
that her poorly worded poems
Show you how special you are..
Regardless...

She seeks nothing more
than to catch your attention..
being in your comfort zone...
Songs...music...words
Maybe seeing her would be the answer...

She seeks nothing more than
A tunnel...
An inside desire for an outside gesture..
An 'accidental' touch of skin..
on the only part left exposed by a heavy winter jacket...

Accidentally...

You're such a child..
My muse Man..
Refusing to part
With things that
catch your fancy...
Jacket...guitar...

You're such a child...
My muse Man..
Would you do that
With people too...?
Would you refuse to
Part with me too?

Have i caught your fancy?
With my words..
My silly ways...
My open admiration
For what you are
And what you will be...
I wonder..

You're such a child..
My muse Man..
Always remain so...
And i promise
you immortality in
my poems...
Aphrodisiac most potent...
Immortality...

You're such a child..
My muse Man...

Clink of wine glasses...
Muted voices...
candlelight...posh flowers...
Moonbeams on the waves..
Nothing could enchant her...
Bored as **** was she...
Unaware that her
unquenchable thirst...
And appetite for fire,
made her captivating...
Irresistible...

Her perfume..
a mix of musk and sea..
Hit the nostrils whenever she moved...
Like a high on a dry afternoon...
And then she saw him...
5 'o' clock shadow at 9 in the night...
The stubble? Aah it was gone..
And she smiled...
'Men' she thought
And laughed out aloud...
'Vanity becomes him...'

'You mad woman..' he said
As he kissed her nose..
Where does one keep
Such treasures of femininity?
Abandoned wild woman...
Who can walk in on a conversation...
Lick his ear shocking him in public...
'Come away with me...'
And he follows
Dazed..behind this...this...thing.
Just like that.

The moaning wind and the crash of water...
her back on the shore...
hips grinding.. stubbled chin...
legs thrashing around shoulders..
and the waves
Just. Kept.Coming.
Pushing him over the brink..
No past. No future. Just Now.
And she laughed and he kissed her
'You mad woman...'

"Healing...you need healing..."
Healing? what did that mean?
Why? I was good...wasn't I ?
Clueless i just meandered
through life..and
Hello! Hello!Guess who knocked on my door...?

He used his fingernail
on the scratch card of my sleeping senses looking for a prize...
And uncovered the silvery covering...
revealing a pinched nerve...freed now...
My pen started bleeding words on to paper...
Poems...and now i cant seem to stop...

Poems tumble out...sugar-sweet whimsical..love-filled *****...for His lips in my hair...for the moan when He kisses my ear...
for His tongue in my teeth..
for arms around my waist....
for His symetrical smile...for things felt...and not felt...

Poems tumble out....for Him knowing me to my core...
For the **** and the silly..
for the loud teasing and the whispers...for the scratch of his stubble ...
for the nudge of his nose...
on my neck, my face....
for the music...for the humour...

Poems tumble out.... for Him...
because of Him...
and I'm not going to stop.
Oh and I healed....

Tousled hair...
kohl-rimmed eyes...
leaf patterned teddy
barely covering her *******...
foetal pose...
clutching the pillow to her stomach...

He turns her around...
Tracing the outline of the Angel on her breast...
He whispers.."You're the woman
that I've been wanting...
for over a decade..."
He smiles and kisses her on her lower lip...

She laughs and agrees..
disbelieving the blarney...
But tries to match herself to
His far fetched ideals
of an intense wordsmith dream girl..
if that'd make Him want her...
because all it takes for her to want Him
are her favourite songs and sweet talk..

Like the one in the previous stanza...
'You're the woman I've been wanting.....for over a decade.."
Sweet talker...

Fifth of March,
Innumerable things could have been done....
Belly dance classes,haircuts,shopping...
I could have gotten a tattoo...
Taken a random bus to a random city,
Could have fallen sick,got killed in an
accident,
Visited friends,gone to a
pub,a movie,a play...

But,I didn't do any of this...

All I did was come to you with a Thank you...
With sweetness,caring,courage and smiles...
And you did the same...though not needing the courage...
But you made me nervous with your words...
You spoke like you were doing the world a favour...
That it was a privilege you bestowed on a lucky few...

How Rude! I thought...such arrogance and yet so alluring...
I felt like a fool...what was i thinking?
How could one be arrogant and alluring at the same time?
With the same intensity...?
But then I remembered who you Were...
And i started to travel back in time.......
Inscrutable eyes,spellbinding sounds,nimble fingers...
Liberation....from the cycle of rebirth...Salvation...

Fifth of March,
Among the things I did was that I saw You...
and saw things i never thought i'd see again...
But this time around the eyes were tender and caressing....
The sounds still bound you....the words left me wanting more...
and the fingers...Aah! still nimble and expert...
And I realised that You would always be the same...
despite changing the landscape of life....
A Rockstar...and such...

Fingers...
Fetish...
Female...

Excitement begins where his cigarette ends...
Music at the tips...
Caressing ebony and ivory
Hands,harmony,heat...

Fingers that caress,grip,stroke..
Plucking on a string...
Music born out of ba(ss)ic emotions..

Fingers that set skin on fire...
Burning flesh into something..
Easily Molded..pliable..molten..

Fingers,centimetres from the screen...
But thousands of miles away...
Stretching like clock hands...
His ahead of hers...time moves..

Fingers everywhere...
Pinning her down...
Then,two on her lips...
That stop her from saying No...
As if she would ever want to...

Fingers...
Fetish...
Female...She..

Bang in the middle
Of a summer afternoon...
Witnessing the  marriage
of dust and heat...
Sweat-drenched i daydream...
And am overcome with oneness ..
Yet not alone...

A tap on my shoulder...
A gentle tugging of my hair...
A touch on the back of my hand...
Fingers running unobtrusively
On the veins of my wrist...
Lips bestowing Angel kisses
Behind my ear..

Cajoling...nudging...
"Hey hey...Is it over?
The poems...
The adulation..
The unadulterated devotion
That art has for it's muse...
Is it fading?"

"Silly Muse...
Silly silly beautiful Muse
You are my poem...
the shape of my words
I feel you in each melting-in-heat
Breath...
Never fading...never over..."