Desire, Fiction & Poetry, Love, Poems, Poetry

Heartless

The tongue is heartless servant, it slithers on your neck and lips, like a snake devoid of warm flesh, I feel the warmth and the tremble in cleavage, but I am cursed as in Eden.

It smothers the bra slowly, peeking within with satanic eyes, the warmth is a thirst for a thing made of out flesh, it multiples while inside, caressing, pressing, Disappearing with eyes,
Your breath is a kiss of blaze burning and I was a winter worth nurturing with hands choking my existence

The breasts caressed slowly, into a tumultuous moment of touch, I trace the tips to its origin, feeling them erect and ready for to pleased, unhook now and lie down, let me taste the eden before being banished forever.

beauty, creative-writing, Death, Desire, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Poems, Poetry

An Ode to Dying Winter

What is this heart?
if not a emotion driven by a flood of questions?
I lay shirtless in an unknown darkness,
Somebody robbed me of a known darkness,

Every nerve has a memory
Hence, I have no words to describe winter,
It reminds me of months of change,
It now reminds me to assess of the change.

There are no pomegranates or apples in my gardens,
It is just the ice soaked grass,
my toes hurt when I trespass my property.
For what?
I cannot change the end of winter,
If Winter was here, can Spring be far behind?

Nobody should ever listen to the aches of comfort,
of a winter of campfire and whiskey
You get used to it slowly,
Now the bottles are empty,
Some broken,
Some lost.

I wait in the edge of a land of disappearing snow,
thinking was it all worth it?
Yes it was.
Somebody tell my heart once again.This.
Please.

– SB

creative-writing, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love, Poems

Move

Why don’t you just move your eyes.
To eclipse the shyness.
For I fear I will have to move your hair with my tips
My hands could trace the dark sparkle of your eyes.
Your lips but are unforgiving and unlearned,
they don’t tell me where to stop,
at the chin or at the soft flesh of neck?
I could sense the unnerving cleavage tremble
With this touch,
bosoms turning restless as a kid dissolved in nightmare
I feel a warmth brew in your breath
Does you have butterflies in your belly
When I do that?

The hands have a memory of their own,
They tresspass the neck, leaving warm flesh and bones for the tongue
To the unresting clevage that drowns in desire.
The soft breasts are sumptuously caressed,
Leaving an entire room for voices.
Feel the heartbeat through your lips,
Let the tongue convolve like spies on death sentence.
The waist turns into a carved flesh,
With black jeggins reflecting every curve within
Your could feel the hips firmed and soft with the black panties inside.
Roll down a feather and it will jump of the curves of hip.
Roll down a feather it will caress the breasts and land between the curves of the legs.

Desire, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Poems, poetry

Dream -II

I feel your lips with the tips,
The wetness escapes to my hand
Your neck feels the breath
the warmth, the wetness
as the lips and tongue are licked.
Hold it right there, dissolve the taste.
As the hands caress your breasts, feel your soft bra and entrapped nipples.
Just moan in the slowest you can,
Take the hand, teach it the ways.
Its all yours now even with your eyes closed.

The necks are traced, my teeth turn thirsty
Biting into their soft flesh, caressing with the tongue
Breasts are felt as hands move inside the top,
Touching the bra, feeling the soft clevage,
The erect nipples and the warm breasts.
Don’t break the lips, feel the touch through them

Desire, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

You

Its pitch black and secluded,
the moon is our only light,
The cold breeze our only comfort.
we find ourselves alone and secluded
just like the waves, totally restless,
Over sand, you pull me up close
And make kiss the lips softly,
licking them, Feasting on the tongue slowly
As my hands slowly caress your hips over
Your wet shorts, feeling every piece of curves in the hips, I intend to stop at dawn.
What about you?

Desire, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

Voyage – I

You went into the sea at dawn.
And made a necklace out of the voyage,
Nobody knew whether your were a mermaid,
A sea goddess or the beauty obsessed with the shores of the sea.
But I didn’t think twice, before breaking that necklace with my fingers.
Just to touch your lips,
Just to imagine,
What could I have done,
To taste your tongue.
To drown in your eyes,
I voyaged voicelessly into the sea beneath your legs.
They say, your eyes had story to tell
But I tasted them slowly in the deep blue darkness
It was tempting,
To witness your fair and subtle flesh,
I wanted to touch every inch of it,
But I was told that dreams disappear with
a laugh,
So I waited for you to sleep
and my hands knew what to do as you drifted away.
I traced your collarbone,
an arched sculpture of desire,
Till my lips forgot what it meant to kiss,
For I have never tasted blood or had the craving for so,
They went below to the waist, to feel the curves that smell like the fresh dawn and tempted me
Like a nonchalant dreamer,
From the waist , you drove my fingers to the breasts,
and turned me addicted to touch.
Just don’t stop. Now
Does it tickle or you forget everything?
As the fingers trace from the neck
To the end of the cleavage,
The unbuttoning of your shirt
Is there a mystery as the bra awaits its place on floor,
If only we could stop our lips
And pray to the heaven,
To not to make their flesh running
With the blood of desire. .

beauty, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, Poems, poetry

Why

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?

Writings to Heaven

Shashank Bhardwaj

Category Archives: Desire