Your smells of a warm winter,
a warm embrace and an icy kiss.
I love your winter flavours on my lips ––
taste of summers I do not miss.
Your cinnamon, musk smells
waft through my lungs and heart.
You say we can’t be lovers,
we are from two worlds apart.
The winter comes and goes,
sometimes lovers do return.
But, on the diaphanous wings of a moth
I place my love, for it to burn.
Because there is pure love after selfish love,
an ambrosial potion, sweetest.
And generous, golden sunshine
after tumultuous tempest.
And so I love you, Simon Cuddlebug,
just like a child does her favorite friend.
There is only a love filled warm heart,
nothing feels broken – no more a need to mend.
And because each story needs a complete end…
On quiet nights we chase shadows,
watch a distant star.
Hold hands like children in love
while I fall in love with your eyebrow scar.
it never stays.
It comes unannounced though,
like a deep-cut in skin
that seeks your undivided attention,
and hurts you even in your sleep.
You pamper it and you keep it warm, dry and safe –
love is beautiful even when it’s bruised black and blue,
and sometimes bleeding,
and when it hurts.
And when it heals
you don’t want it back,
you don’t remember it.
I loved once, and I was loved
and it stayed with me like a deep cut,
seeking my attention,
and then it was gone.
On days slow such as these,
I tend to remember
a certain sweet kiss,
a tender touch,
warm gaze of eyes on my skin.
But the wounds are all healed,
and I am ready to be in love again.
Photo (Arunachal Pradesh) by Nitin Das, who makes beautiful nature films.
As I float above this viridian valley
she awakes to my misty notes of love
She draws the veil
and stretches her limbs,
Oh, your cloud kissed forests
through which flow streams of love
Sometimes I hover,
sometimes I enwrap your forest-scape, pristine.
As I saunter from valley to valley
and hover on your cloud kissed peaks
I fall in love yet again,
with your patterns, your colors
your textures, your music,
even your silence.