free-handed percussions — nightly detours
into amatory affairs — touch and wiggle —
the ambient smell of stale booze, fresh-smokes
on their breaths, a chandelier dripping with light,
bursting and blooming into the eyes,
sax and guitar, reverberating desires, up and loud —
the head nods that leave no room for improvisation.
the fingers find their way to the sequestered spots,
recognizing the rising heat in the night-time breeze,
my nips attentive to words grazed against my neck
along the sternocleidomastoids (the tumescence and
detumescence palpable in a cloth traveled melody) —
the blues rise in a leaf-like cadence, my heart palpitates
to the response of my thighs (shuttered, caving all within) —
freehanded percussions, nightly detours that settle
all that rises, as the lights expand in a cross-rhythm,
chaotic, high-rising, groping, grabbing, pulling, spilling,
tinkling down my spine.
© Anmol Arora 2018
For With Real Toads’ Notebook Poetry: I do not know if my writing is even comprehensible — I do write in my notebook at times but mostly it’s when there is a rush of a particular thought or experience and I have to jot it down — so my pen glides all over the page in its need to capture all of it in a jiffy before it extinguishes to nothing — I have taken my time in penning this one down after typing it primarily with a few non-intrusive edits. Ha! As for the poem, I have used the precise terms for a particular reason which delves into the biological aspect, to distance it from desire or want. Hope it doesn’t hinder the experience.
Also linking it with the Poetry Pantry at PU.