Monday, March 08, 2010

Taboo

It began with a playful fight on a lawn
Little shoves and tugs from which were born
Something, a spark, a tiny flicker
A trickling stream that was bound to get thicker

Tickles slowly replaced the pinches
And distances between us reduced to inches
That night, easily, naturally, without a pause
I found my fingers tangled in yours

I know I should have, could have stopped
But sparks ignite with a mere drop
Of fuel; A touch, a glance a smile suffices
The fire, it grows like a beast and rises

One minute, a glass of beer in hand
The next, everything we'd planned
Melted down to nothing and instead
We fell over each other on our rooftop bed

We laughed and rolled and kissed all night
And all that was wrong, seemed so right
I don't know where to go from here
So for just a minute more, stay with me here










1 comment:

sowmya said...

nice poem with different concept..

Poetry

when language like bubbling streams flow




when words are laid down to fit like lovers' hands




when you feel the essence of the poet from within




when swirling thoughts are caught in the net of rhythm



when images reel as you read




when pen and paper create a symphony




then, it is poetry

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