Category Archives: Desire

creative-writing, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

Swim Away – I

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

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creative-writing, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, think

Savoury Cream

Pour it all
and spread it slowly
with your bare hands,
this cream isn’t that sweet
but you are gonna like it anyway,
so come and swallow it
as you suck me out,
and I close my eyes.
Take it all in,
let me feel the saliva mix
with the cream and melt.
Go on at your pace,
I can wait, in darkness,
all night, all day,
just don’t stop in between,
tonight.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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beauty, creative-writing, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Tea

She once asked,
for the morning tea
with those sparkling eyes
full of thirst.
I paid no heed knowingly
to let her suffer sweetly from within.

I didn’t expect though:
In the warm drowsiness
she would prepare it with her soft hands
after removing my shorts
and gulp it all in,
slowly and steadily
keeping my eyes closed.

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beauty, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Love, Poems, poetry

Tease

Your fingers map my body,
The neck turns into a calloused valley.
The breasts are the warm deserts now.
This waist is a barren wasteland, dying of thirst.

Between my legs
flows a river unseen,
a forest untouched, by fingers.
A paradise lost in time.

Transverse this map tonight,
make it rain, just conjure a flood
all over my body.

the flavours of the paradise await you, come, seek a taste of forgotten heavens.

I don’t care now,
I can’t wait now,

Teach me this cartography, Just don’t ask why.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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beauty, creative-writing, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Love, Poems, poetry

Lets Taste the Sunlight – II

We were the lost mermaids that drowned in each other to find ounces of unforgettable love.

I kissed your neck while you nailed my back crafting a map of your moans.

Tracing your breasts to the tips that had waited for me as an impatient wave wanting to touch the shore.

The nipples tasted like sweet honey dripped in cream for you made a connoisseur of desire.

Our muscles melted in yellow shimmering.

We saw the sun tracing our nakedness slowly.

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creative-writing, Desire, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Avoid

the real loving people,
the ones who feast on hearts
for years and centuries and
hunt on the smell of affection,
stay away from them.
Avoid them.
For they would make
you feel loving is normal,
it’s necessary.
But it isn’t

the real insane people,
the ones who shapeshift
into volcanoes and waterfall
at a slight change in air flow,
Avoid them.
For they would make
you feel insanity is normal.
it’s necessary
But it isn’t.

the real versions of you,
the ones who you greet in the mirror,
the artist, the erotic and lewd writer\dreamer,
the failed guitarist, the Bukowski in making,
Avoid all of them.
For they would make
you feel failure is normal
It’s necessary.
But it isn’t.

 

 

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beauty, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Poems, Poetry, Writings

A Few

It was good in the old days.
The poets were poets.
The writers were writers.
The artists were artists.

Now we have men and women
who under a comfortable roof
and closed doors try to look different
to this world.

They paint, write and create when they feel like.
They call it a Balance.
A Hobby.
A Stress relieving mechanism.
It makes them feel different.

Differently dead from one another.
Dead throughout their days
from the everlasting stupor
induced by the attention of others.
It ends in their dreams I feel.

They don’t have desperation
nailing their back.
The desperation to create something
that shall last a thousand years.

It comes in a few people only.

those who just care about creating.
those who dissolve their souls
on papers and paint it with their blood.

They do have the same passion as others.
But what makes them really different
from others is that they know
passion is like Gasoline.

You have to pour it over yourself
and start the fire
to really feel it.

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