drinking a night’s naivety
down my throat,
my tongue seared at your lips,
in a ploy of breaths,
of tastes exchanged
in a whiskey-gulp.
i bundled my skin together
at a kiss’s knotted-end,
i let my head fall down
the vacuum of your voice.
.
© Anmol Arora
For dVerse Quadrille #73
Image source (Dean Rossiter Abstract Painting – “Final Fatal Kiss” – abstract painting)
unearthed trinkets of lust
taken by my lips —
bitten —
bitumen of the roads left
behind —
quick-quirky-beats rise quickly
like moon-quivering-tides.
drink one on me, through me,
as i
taste the memory of your
kitschy kiss,
hear a silver sun’s silence,
left undisturbed,
ululating — dying.
.
© Anmol Arora 2018
For dVerse Quadrille # 64
Image source (An interesting reproduction and interpretation of Klimt’s The Kiss)
***
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love’s bulge seems to be pretty abundant-
lewd words weave a fulcrum of all dreams, wet to touch,
sweet-bitter tones serenade the ears, a silent breath
grazing the neck with a scimitar of nefarious thoughts,
don’t speak, just do the unspeakable, the unmentionable
with a velocity of a soaring plane, upending us into submission,
this is the art work people gawk at and fail to encompass
into any coherent knowledge, its deprivation, its salvation,
spilled paint is the canvas for this action filled space, love is
swallowing its saliva and thick puddles of misery foam at those
silent, nurturing lips. your mouth is my mouth is your mouth.
let’s do it. let’s unmake love.
.
Image source
Linking it up with Poets United Midweek Motif
Also read this: this vulgar handiwork of time and let’s draw blood
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how it is so that smiles are dripping down his chin
and his eyes are capturing rainbows in their delight, oh!
“Annihilation,” the world cried.
he is the abysmal beauty in the hourglass of night, he
stands tall like a crane snatching stars from the sky, oh!
“Annihilation,” the world cried.
how he traces the outline of his cracked lips and digs into
napalm skin, how his saliva coats the lengths of desires, oh!
“Annihilation,” he cried.
he falls down the cliff, and breaks open like dreams; he sings.
.
Linking it up with the prompt titled “the sisters Death and Night ~ Micro Poetry” at With Real Toads.
To the hill, I mounted barefoot to see sun rising from ashes,
Heart thumping, blooms a sweet desire in my heart to touch, kiss the sky,
A river, meandering through deep valley makes me feel alight
source- capetown travel
Poetic form: Sijo
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