Walking along the bank
    of the  prancing village brook,
lined with screwpines
in full bloom spreading
                  musky scent
                 and shamelessly imitating the color of  your skin,
thinking of you all along,
on the way to Krishna temple
you frequent,
I see a surge-
a bevy of giggling village belles,
your ***** friends,
march forward,
holding the hearts of young men to ransom,
teasing me on the sly,
for courting you so ardently.
Who can stop them,
a barrage breach of
Cupid's darlings,
tailing me by chance.

   My eyes searched everywhere,
                    but but missed you so much,
     today they miss,
the crown jewel they deserve,
to be in the middle,
that can be only you always!

On the imaginary crown of them
you would have shone,
added charm and embellished
their victory lap,
in the guise of temple visit,
to worship the Lord, lover nonpareil,
whose love life is our lore.

              On long black tresses
they wore garlands of jasmine,
    can't help pity their haste
and muddled taste,
    you would have told your brood,
how jasmine would have felt,
     unless perfectly adorned on hair, those
incomparable blessing in fragrance.

Always saying I love you, baby.
But they’ve only been together a day.
Captivated by the way the
Darkness of each other’s pupils grow
Every time they touch.
Forcing the kind of relationships, but more of the
Groping, that they saw in the movies.
Heated make out sessions in the church youth room, with
Intensity that could make strippers blush.
Juxtaposing every inch of their bodies.
Knowing what to do only because of what they
Learned in health class. Trying to
Master the art of *** and what they call love,
Not caring who knows. Living off each
Other’s breaths. Fabricating
Plans and stories for their parents when they’re caught
Quietly sneaking back into their
Rooms at four in the morning,
Shutting their doors and their eyelids,
Tracing remnant goose bumps.
Until the sun shines into their windows,
Violating their dreams of Cinderella and Prince Charming,
Washing the night from their skin, and shoving their
******* memories to the back and hiding them in a drawer.
Yearning to be touched again, by whom ever the next
Zephyr can blow into their neighborhood.

Smiles get harder

                            and harder to fake

                                                          as the day wears on

And so the cycle continues

her life is fixed as mine falls apart

it won't be long be fore we switch places...




again