Prolific


114

in fragile moments of time
there are these rumours of lust
between us, like dipping dusty shelves

with a naked smelling good book
suggestive that we validate each other
like a good story, or a whirled love-affair
there are sultry octaves sweating
between us, beneath the surface

a melody of aberrant kisses that
could swell the shady members
of our bodies like candles and the night

I’m not shy of your erotic tendencies
it’s all perfectly natural I’m sure
why my eyes veer towards your well-rounded
lotus shape, or how you flirt with me
without meaning to, on some level of appetite

of whims of girlish pride, it’s all
the wet whistles between us
the candy-marinated lullaby

and chocolate dreams for fools like us
who have nothing better to ponder
whose lives are glass figures of fragile
promises, swirling vows, eager amusements
youth still has her eyed locked on us I guess

a humid culmination to the loneliness
a rebellion to getting older, our bodies
make secret plans, primed to each other

like biology dipped with inner thirst
a revelation of the flesh and her
prolific ways, these physical polarities
the palpable prophecy of pleasure
that yearns like an unspoken cross-examination.

115

Photo Courtesy:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Suffuse-486295442

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Michelle-III-486300403

O Like a Fire That Flickers for the Fairer Sex


I think of women on
Hot extravagant afternoons
Words from the Earth, my little bread
The water of centuries picked clean
I let the red ink of these prerequisite passages

Settle in me, their earthy wisdom
Like a masseur’s warm open hand
Their expert flirtation of
Psychology and innate fastidious ‘performance’
I think of women on

Cool nights that restore my pulse
I listen to them too much
To hasten to their self-same torments
I’ve heard all of their complaints
On the tipsy tip-toes of poetry

I did nothing to provoke them
My goldenrod of spilled yellow friendship
I am a living animal, in their presence
An outlawed sign-language of my desire
They read on their unmenacing lips

A sour frantic belonging of their value
I think of women on
Mornings of the shrewdest plans
They are instrumental to my cathedral-abundance
I’ve become too good at giving & giving-in

And now a most savage dog
I think of women on the way here, or there
After-hours rain downs my familiarity
I think of women like naming the planets
Pirates of my soul’s bleeding kisses

Whimper, silly, hush, flood, hot-flashed
I think of women and their sweet roar
Sweat, push, pull, sign, moan, hush.

I Devoured Your Lessons like a Savage


You seduce me with whispers
Of my own mortality, about how life is short
You guarantee in me a Revolution

For which you allow me to play the Hero
I’d suffice in happy endings, or not
Just for a masterpiece moment

With your lure of hospitality
You incite to passion with Headlines
Of how excited you are to know me

To allow me to enter you
Do you have any idea, how many
Emotions you inject into me

How quickly you shyly raise my pulse?
Like a get-well coordinator, you tease me
With an executive tantalizing order

You seduce me with candles and your
Warm brown body melting for my touch
Have you ever noticed how fierce you drive me

Forging a passage and passport to your bed
You close the curtains when I arrive
I’d thrust at any perfect link, of your
Blue butterfly heart, talented and fertile.

Spring Fever


All her flesh is like a mouth
A caress of summer, nude skin
A flash of promise in quick moving bodies

A skirt in the wind, it’s all I can see
All her heart is like a living waist
Hips and buttocks that rock, left to right

Right to left, my life in a nutshell
The hopelessly tangled instincts
All her smiles are the most vibrant joys!

I own nothing in her trembling gaze
I am consumed by private obsession
When the bride of her sweetness is close

All her flesh is like a mouth
With lips that other strangers will travel
With breasts that flower like the buds
Roots of art where my passion will die.

There are No More Lovers


A cloud of grasshoppers climb
From the rose that is my heart
It passed before the sun

Between the Moon and the crickets
Battalions of trials before security
I join the wandering and forget

Holiness, with an ordinary lust
For sensations I cannot find
They would trample the green

But I do not sense the freshness
Perhaps I have had too many lovers
Their nameless histories, inherited

In my corridor of tip-toe guilt
I’ve served the densest gardens
With the highest of intentions

But my lips are bruised on the lips
Of the bruised lips of those I have kissed
My virtues have been undressed by time.

A Poet as a Lover


60

The best poets wait for words
I rush them as I would a woman
I have no patience for timid steps
The hunt is not an exercise of will
But a routine of loving, relentlessly!

The best lovers are fueled by smoldering desire!
Slow movements seem too dull
Youth is a show that passes quickly
So make it happen, poems & women
Easy come, easy go, they have taught me

With darkness at their steamy cores
I am a watcher of the rarest birds
And a hunter for the most exotic women
I’ll risk rejection – it shall Kill me not
So long as I hold, a great perspective to Love-Making.

I’ve Swallowed Distant Pollen in your Kiss


46

No one can reckon what I owe
To the wonders of this world
I am grateful for, your wilderness
Like a young girl becoming a woman

You brush your hand over me
And I rise, from the Sea to your Joy
Like the fields being watered
I surge to life in your hands

That know the creativity of Life
Like a blind bird with still so much flight
I roam for continents of your touch
Where wandering lightning might strike

In these loins, yielding in penetration
With the moisture of all that is yielding
Feeling with body, my ceilings of pleasure
Emotional in my lonely house, like a lover

Waiting for you, till you will see me again
No one can reckon what I owe
The brief devouring hope of flesh & soul
My body to rub your kiss, with certain pangs

Stealing the key to my innocence, my blood
On fire for you to continue your pleasing
My wineglass drunk every drop of your moisture
Sipping the roots of your womanhood

As if in your flesh I might find time, salt, whispers
The rumor of wood, green, growing things
No one can reckon what I owe
Life begets life, women bring joy

I am grateful, for the shadows in your moods
Like a young girl becoming a woman
I dare not trespass too close to your curiosity.

Being Used


16

I have bartered myself
With violent abandon
Suffered myself against
Pitiful impulsivity
I have given myself

To the wounded and the aloof
Only to be abused like crushed dahlias
I have held myself like a shinning ghost
For marigold-garlanded projects
Attempted healing, at my own expense

I have martyred myself
In the arms of uncaring lovers
And I am dismembered & bruised
I have sought connection
Like a fragment without a purpose

Stockpiling fruits of attraction
For something outside myself
I have been illuminated by gargoyles
Tortured by single mothers
All to be somebody’s rebound, somebody’s scapegoat
Until the wind of their lust changed direction.

A Last World of Spring


13

It’s too late to cancel them now
Isn’t it? The birds of spring, sing
Like a mindful entry into the passage
Into summer, May will be coming soon

Reflected in the water of the buds
Fields of division among the twigs
It’s too late to wait up for it now

Isn’t it? The broad gestures of metamorphosis
There are no taboos in Spring
It walks into us from the inside

Sobering with sensuality, green effort
Hazards of the course of threshing floors
Of desire and clarity of impulse

It’s too late to cancel it now
Isn’t it? No more fence-sitting for us
Ambushed by the teeth of flowers

Like a perverse playroom before summer light
I can dwell here a while, to taste
The nearest stars in your liquid eyes.

Maybe I Loved You in Another Time


5

To the one offering the most
I’ll throw you with fervor
The intimacy channel
As if I were twenty again!
I’ll whisper to you my blond text

Barricade myself in poetry for you
Like a seasoned artist
In love with love, making beauty
For beauty’s sake, this
Petty song of my same-old revolution

I’ll call you the last revelation
Of my creation, mounting syllables
To suit your needs, to tailor your curves
In the alphabet of your most intimate voice
Like a blade of knowledge, I’ll cut you

Yes, like a young soldier dying
From neglect and love-wounds
I’ll tell you how I’m the lone survivor
Of too much will to love
I know it’s not really a news-flash

Simply, the price of delicate boredom
Strung out in a treasure vault
Of living in words, secluded form experience
To the one offering the most
I’ll give you this, melodies predicted

For the same reasons that makes your body
A womb I cannot intoxicate myself in
A period of mining your feminine sun
I have not the Venus laments left
To trick you into defiance of your self-defenses

So instead, I’ll wait for snow to cry
In April’s unrelenting gloom.