Criss-Cross
Criss-Cross
Your arms feel like sweet lime on my skin...
Criss-crossing, tearing, wearing in and weraing out
Every heart beat that he wants to adore.
Because I simply
Do not want some parts
Of my tender lips to be
Touched by his.
Colors fascinate me.
Especially those merging witch touch
Of the speculating, intimidating! and strangling
Yet scintillating lipsticks.
Your black lipstick chimes
Merging with my winen;
And some parts of you
Melting just in my blues.
We've spun a hut
Using our entwined fingers;
Making a mesh in those
Fluffy pillows. Sinking them lower
And lower and lover and
Lower and lower:
As our breaths cross each other
Like two arrows
Hitting straight against each!
Criss-Cross.
My fingers mutter as
I cross every date on that calender
Hanging loosely on
Our peeling off bones,
And crease myself
In your folds
Unfolding the many scents that
You can be.
Un-combing
The many knots on
Your smelting kisses
That set us apart;
So far, at par, as I become
A scar on
Your Pink-Floyd T-shirt that never smells of me.
And I love the way we
Become strangers at night;
When we'd light
Lamps and then walk and walk
And walk but wait!
We aren't drunk!
We'd just walk
Like travellers exploring new valleys
And rivers and intriguing roads in each other.
Totally obscure to the land
We try to inhabit, in the sand
Mapping ourselves in each other
As the barrier of our grasps melts
And fills up the gaps between our bedsheets.
Crisis-cross
We cross some home
Lakes, wetting ourselves.
Then we make some bridges
That lead you to me, and me
To my sins rusting at a place
I am supposed to call home.
I do not want this night to end
As I explore bits of me as
A stranger in whole glitz of you.
I am me when I am none.
The only thing
About mornings is the way
We cover our bare bed.
We cover it together
Using clean white sheets
As if limiting our sins
And love and
Loved sins and Sinned love
To a bin with four corners.
Criss-Cross and all that
Plain perfection of pou bed
Is drained as
We rain ourselves again against
The moonshine hitting us again.
Again and Again we'd rain...
Criss-cross
I muster some cluster of love
Marinated in haste and taste
Again tonight.
I hold you again tonight.
Using your legs for my sticks
And your eyes for my boat.
My feet for the oar
And your palm for my hope
And your hair for our rope.
Criss cross.