Somewhere in a casket,
Random in my ransacked room,
I have your silhouettes stored-
Those which I presume-
A man would never behold.
I imagine your shoulders broad,
Splendid as a bridge across my glee.
Over which my eyes could be driven,
While I could soak in your chest,
For you be so taller.
Your skin being tight and thick,
Such as it already feels to be bugging in.
Your kurta being loose weighed down,
Revealing the sweated collar bones,
And much of the rest-
Your complexion could melt upon me.
Wallowing under the sheets,
Your caustics could potentially outshine mine.
Up to the brink, your douchebaggery could shine.
You may sing anything, Ghazals or even hums
You baritone could lull me to sleep,
With the heft and flatness of it,
With some added tunes.
Our towns could be kilometers apart,
Or the residents even for light years;
Might be the same for our creeds.
Your breath could be a bower,
To the desert of mine.
Your eyes being shrunk crescent moon,
With the lashes too dense,
But sight like an arrow piercing.
Your poetry could define,
And being poet inspired by
You I wouldn't envy.
Your resilience could be better than mine,
And your adamant nature,
Suffice to repeat an act a million times-
To achieve the desired.
Unlike me an ergophile,
You could draw a better parallel line.
You were allowed to smoke,
For it, I have an affinity untold.
Your profession be any,
Your passion be vehement.
I promise then, to find you in graphite
and mullar and heard in Mozart's.
Your hands masculine,
With the veins bulged,
And circlets and totem wrapped,
Red and orange around.
Skies be your preferred roof
Under the rainy sky,
The sharing of petrichor shall feel sanctified.
Your gales be a crescendo
Your age could be more to mine,
But things could be divine.