53 seconds ago
I had shifted many neighbourhoods
and arm of lovers since.
But a sip of ginger tea still reminds me of your lips
savage on mine,
our breaths subliming together
under the blanket of a January morning.
I remember the hastily abandoned
half empty teacups on the sidetable
and the timid winter sunshine
pouring shyly through our garden window,
watching our shadows dance
a foreplay of tosses and turns.
And oh, the slip and slide,
here and there.
A sensous routine
that always blurred together
A game of two,
where you seeked all that I hid.
Tell me though
how did your fingers always seem to know
where exactly I craved your touch?
For your tongue delved deep
setting wildfires in places
I never knew were a part of me
And my hands with a grace
I didn’t know I possessed
found places, that made you
shudder with pleasure.
When your lust glazed black onyx eyes
weren’t the only things hard anymore,
silencing my moans with your mouth,
coaxing my mounds with your palms,
you would take the plunge
and I would meet you
where stars collided
and galaxies twirled
into a black hole
pinpointing all that ever existed
in the rhythm our bodies met.
Time then came to a stand still
and I would open my eyes
to look at yours
those smoldering embers that slowly faded,
their thirst finally quenched.
And our desires, spent.
Now tell me, love,
who makes your ginger tea these days?
Does she know
how 'exactly' you like it?
Indhumathi Nagarajan ©
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