A black viscous river
adorned by the light of moonlight
Moves over your cheeks and neck,
an irresistible silk woven pack of hair,
dissolving the color of your eyes
But not the lips, wine red.
The arch of the chin meets shoulder
with the warm flesh intact and curved
Over your body.
It no mosaic or painting
But God’s idea of a natural painting.

The curves move as a tempting thirsty river
from your back to the sculpted arch of the waist,
every touch is a desirous attempt to moksha,
The bones still warm now, the heart still soft,
The straps refine the curve with its color unknown,
Caressing the soft mounds below the neck to the tapered waist and way below.
Do you imagine yourself this way?
Why not?

© Shashank Bhardwaj