this imprisoned desire

a touch was sought and received, whence
fingers gouged out the remnants of cold
in the warmth of these props of decency,

hidden – the thumb traces the existence, index
paves the way for further exploration, the middle
is the spine holding the act together,

the little is cushioned, nuzzling its cheek against
its counterpart, the ring wonders what it would entail –

probing and prodding the story of our times, it looks
for answers where there are even more questions. verses
are spoken and heard, there are certain bits of activity
to bring forth those much needed bits of dizziness.

such is the nostalgia for the untouched touch – of lips against lips,
of tongue against the skin.
such is the nostalgia for an unanswered answer – of murmurs within
the ears, of words left undone.

I peek through my naked thoughts and find a glimmer of
hope, nostalgic of an unbridled news item –

yesterday, she read the fate off of my palm,
today, he caressed those solemn lines,
tomorrow, I want to make them both last.

.
Linking this hopeless reverie with Poets United. I hope you all are having a good Sunday.
Mine seems to be pretty dubious of its own existence.

Image source

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Yarn of Life

Yarn (copyright- me)

yarn of life,

she weaves through her old frail hands,

one day be made into a cardigan

or may be a woolen cap of a young boy’s wonder,

she remains behind the scene,

yarn slipping through her hands,

silky-smooth threads,

.

she is happiness,

she is love,

she is struggle,

she is survival,

she is the artisan,

she sits in a reverie,

her eyes focused,

as she sutures the yarn of life,

in her old frail hands.

.

*For Right2Write Prompt. Just click on the name and that will take you to the prompt theme of the week.