to spot my shadow,
your slender silhouette instead.
my orange tip butterfly!
this ain’t a sleight of light,
as dreams merge
our souls unite,
leaving our tanned bodies tangled
in a titillating state of tantric union
inspired by nature on a beautiful walk through central park yesterday
mama used to say
silence is also conversation.
however, this deafening ‘quiet’ is unnerving.
even the back and forth of the winds
between us seems to have died.
was it something i said?
or was it the things i didn’t?
whatever maybe, forgive me
cuz life’s short,
moments we’ve shared, are indeed rare
so please don’t let this eerie silence instead,
speak for the two of us.
sometimes the passing of a few days seem like eternity. these last four days have been just that.
just knowing you’re back
in time for the falling leaves,
perks up these pink roses in my room.
this city’s tap water feels a tad wetter,
even the meek new moon seems a lil’ brighter.
as the evening zephyr waltzes
across this moody park,
it seems to carry with it
a message of love, a beaming smile and knowing’s silence,
spruced with a whiff of those black orchids.
“no pointing in living if you don’t feel alive”
🎁 if mere words 🎁
🎁 could only deliver 🎁
🎁 how i really feel about you 🎁
🎁 i’ll happily dissolve 🎁
🎁 into ink, pen and paper 🎁
🎁 to gift wrap myself 🎁
🎁 as a poem, just for you 🎁
dedicated to all the beautiful women in my life
by the bustling west side
a vintage Rothko in the making!
as the setting red sun
smooches a shy, dark-tanzanite sky.
her succulent strawberry lips,
nowhere in sight.
there’s gotta be a portrait of this rose
the search now
ever since this bird has flown,
is for the missing piece of me,
which i keep scrupulously looking for
on every street
poem inspired by a beautiful sunset on the west side of Manhattan that looked like a painting from Rothko’s “color fields”.
you’ve never been
in my bed,
why do my sheets smell
of that lingering fragrance of you?
dedicated to the talented parfum makers of the world
is it me or did i not see
naughty cupid shamelessly flash
his flowery bow and love-dipped arrow
straight at me?
i see her falling eyelash,
to that seductive gaze
which freezes amaranthine ‘time’
down to absolute zero.
by conventions or clocks,
i, the sage smile....
knowing her playful side
and the true nature of whimsical cupid.
modern rendition of the story of shiva and kama-cupid