I still remember
the way you swam away,
wriggling out of your clothes,
I could see your wet breasts,
with the tips still drowned in drops.
You took my hand between your legs,
and whispered me to begin my art
of dissolving your shyness into thousand
moans of madness.
The tips turned dry, begging me to lick their
shame of existence away.
I worked through them, I worked below you too.
I sculpted a river of ecstacy within you,
and you went through all, by letting our tongues
mute our lives for sometimes.

The silence, we could still hear.
The silence, we can never forget.

© Shashank Bhardwaj