a starry-eyed dalliance

Image by Mark Basarab

silhouette — eyes draped
to forget the view of
that touch,

stars wave their flesh,
hang together in
an unreliable
reminiscence,

of what it was, in its night-
time sagacity —

the landmark of my body
rose and fell, began, so to come
to an end,

every breath became star-dust,
haloed in the light of its own
remembrance —

can i be trusted with the s-shaped
curves of that juncture?—

a rendezvous
of halved lusts – biting, igniting,
believing – of a brazen luck,
or a chance companionship
or a calcifying causality
of a lost need for love —

broken beds, filigreed facts,
in the topsy-turvy, much-forgotten
tremors of a memory,

with hidden traces of what remained
and has to be returned.

.

© Anmol Arora 2018

Originally written for and featured on Visual Verse. Linking it up with the Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads.

***
Now that I am back in the thick of things, I am thinking of reviving the old concept of Guest Post here. So, this is an invitation to anyone out there willing to share their words, prose, poetry, rambling, ideas, crafts, arts, publications, et al. to use this space for sharing and promoting their personal/professional work. I have a very humble readership (in quantitative terms, despite the rather larger figure of the total number of followers) but I am sure that the ones who read and visit me will love to hear from you. If interested, you can write to me (with a short pitch for the guest post) at hamusesanewtune@gmail.com or on my Instagram. To get an idea of what has been done before, visit this section called Guest Post (the scope can vary from Oloriel’s poem with the story and inspiration behind her piece to Jen’s short lesson on the World of WordPress and blogging etiquette).

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let’s do it

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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A Mad Tale of a Crying Bunny

“I’m late! I’m late! For a very important date!”

“Not again, my dear bunny, you are now grown up. You must become responsible now,” his mother chided him.

“Sorry mom, I can’t have breakfast. I need to go” He hurried away from the earthy house.

“Son…” her mother called but he was not to be stopped and thereby, he leaped over the rain puddles, and crouched below the fences, and went away to where he was meant to be.

And he reached the destination, where was waiting the most sensual cow he had ever seen. He shivered from within fantasizing and sniffed over his arms, so as to check if his perfume was working.  Stylish, as he was, he went towards her and said in a sexy voice, “Sorry Madame, I am late.”

“Moo.”

“Sorry!?” he asked puzzled.

“Moo.”

“What, you do not like me. You haven’t even talked to me. And you liked me on that dating website.” And he broke into tears.

“Moo,” the cow echoed her opinion and left him wetting his whiskers and looking at her with a glum expression.

* For Wednesday Short Story Prompt.