She basks In her warmth The seasons change Her dissolute sins are December's own that stays with season making long forlorn but not so soon, I hear her sing her, amongst us could sense the spring withered leaves from ground, soar back to her twigs blooms emerge, in minutes to follow, the nascent ripe, I listen, as she eulogize 'bout cuddling feathers in her refuge And 'bout leaves in passing Wind, making love all, under her sun. there she stands as if on a stylobate supporting colossal skies spread above caressing few colors too on the iridescent bow. Ah, forgive me, for I have no clue of corporeal existence, but felt her as the tree from the seed buried inside this pensive mind
Rise and seat yourself Upon the grave silent bed Care for an insouciant smile For the dawn, today. Walk & look out of Mauve draped window Sheath yourself with the morning breeze Let it make tangents on your skin, I would soon follow.. Look down to the boulevard green As the daisies look up to you With life...
I paint your dreams from inside cauldron eyes while you confabulate I'd bleach realities to tungsten blue yawn and yearn while I'd re-sketch dusk with burning sienna you'd live a different dream, in my dreams, tonight may be once, so you could smell the paints, with which I continue to paint your life...
Throne of Izmit, In love, Surreptitious one. With spring she arrives, To stay till fall A quarter's love As 'twas This winter though At his door step She stands And so The December beside, Structures of Byzantine Looks oblique To her curves, Or so he feels He lets them And leads 'em To his ochre yard, There, under nascent Turkish night's Dull illumination The orgy begins..
Him. Her. The December Soon ochre turns white White as milk. Virgin. White Under blankets of Gossamer flakes Each takes turn Revealing the Other from the folds Of embrace. Serendipitously. Kissing. Teasing, With rose buds And lips. Him Hers, Her, his Every streak of Disheveled hair He clears off Her face A kiss he delivers. Kiss for a kiss, so does she And so the December In between.
There’s no dawn. Not in this yard at least Wouldn’t matter, if there so be. Whispers and moans linger. Venus in act. Shy orchids bow Frail petunias bend. Prince, he jousts amid pristine Whites. Virgin red December, she smothers Mahogany creaks Pearl drops of sweat Plays pitter-patter On her forehead from his Summer heat. Descends As she cleaves all over. Blown smithereens Inside each other Still they lay, entwined Night is not petulant To souls in eurhythmy, to be kindled by insatiable December again..