Of Wild Sex, Poetry, And Man I Call My Ocean


Those half-stoned eyes,
Rough hands feeling up my breast.
Your breath stinking of cheap liquor,
I should have left.

Man, why did I stay?
There must be some spell on me.
I was a ruin myself,
Searching for love in debris.

That cheap motel was not comforting either,
Nor was the sheet smooth.
I even felt bumps on the mattress,
When our bodies rhythmically moved.

You rested your head on my stomach later,
Asked me to read a poem for you.
You are a man with 20 dollar jeans,
Who calls quickie a rendezvous.

I don't know who should I blame?
But it is more than lust.
You listen to my worthless poetry,
And I'm the only woman you trust.

Don't read too much between lines, you say,
Don't call us broken.
I'm the river which flows into you,
And you are my ocean.

Man, why shouldn't I stay?
You fill up the emptiness in me.
With you, I'm a scintillating mess,
With you, I'm free.

*Poetic expression after watching Elle. French movies can do this to you.

Comments

  1. I'm the river which flows into you..... so dreadfully beautiful. <3

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  2. That's hot and sensual poetry...my kinda poem with a dash of eroticism. I may weave one soon and of course giving credit to your poem.

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  3. Amazing poetry, and a blog I've known since a couple of years..

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  4. A lovely weave of magic of Words, Saru:)

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  5. The last two lines sums it up quite nicely. With you I am me..

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  6. From first to last line every word holds a feeling with it. Smooth reading.

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