Participate in the 3rd Season of STORYMIRROR SCHOOLS WRITING COMPETITION - the BIGGEST Writing Competition in India for School Students & Teachers and win a 2N/3D holiday trip from Club Mahindra
Participate in the 3rd Season of STORYMIRROR SCHOOLS WRITING COMPETITION - the BIGGEST Writing Competition in India for School Students & Teachers and win a 2N/3D holiday trip from Club Mahindra

Criss-Cross

Criss-Cross

2 mins 13.1K 2 mins 13.1K

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 

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.


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