Category Archives: Love
Stop Me
The hair is veiled
With an abysmal darkness in your eyes,
But your smile is the light of those pink lips,
You spell an aura of resplendence,
Of silence breathing in chaos.
From the fair collarbone and sculpted neck,
The curves below rests and tempt every living soul with some youthfulness left in their hearts with customary pair of functioning eyes.
The bosoms shaped tempting, while the
picture of loneliness burns in brightsm
Do not move when I observe you
and consume some chaos.
I need to observe more
Till my eyes rust
in this rain of calmness.
Perfectly shaped bosoms,
curved over a bright brasserie
traced towards a series of irresistible
sun baked patches of skin.
Now move slowly,
Let me forget this image.
I need some sleep,
To dream you again.
Unravelling everything slowly
Till you forget to stop me.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
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.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Our Symmetries
How often does your tongue teases you
for the words never spoken to me?
How often does your eyes tremble in dreams,
while a familiar shadow whispers my silent goodbyes.
How often does your fingertips ache to trace my eyes and lips
leaving an inch of air, for the sanity of this merciless world?
How often does you smile kisses the dawn
while my names echoes within you like a sweet poison?
How Often? Tell me, do our symmetries meet
and seperate, like the restless blood and the unstoppable heart?
Both – I
I want to hear your impatient moans
everytime I feel your skin with my tongue,
For I am blind to it’s contours and surfaces,
My hands only tends to the voices of flesh,
I silence the desires with my fingers
Till they become wet or tired,
Or pleasantly both.
I start by your neck, licking the flesh,
Tasting its warmth, the shirt unbuttons,
As my fingers slither inside,
Pressing your breasts, caressing them slowly
You let out a moan and bite me on neck.
I hold you so close, to begin with
The buttons break, the hands slide in,
I caress the breasts, feeling the nipples
They are bound to be erect, telling my fingers
To lick them slowly, to unhook and taste them.
Time
Everytime, her eyes stare me.
I think of a million ways,
to escape the touch of time.
I slip pass them somehow,
by looking at her lips shyly.
While she becomes a moment
handcuffed to my existence
and all unbirthed rhymes.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Helps
Its dark and damp,
The voices disappear in this hall,
The sound of us will never echo,
so we take advantage of this loneliness,
as the way it should be taken,
My hands slowly start touching your lips
in the darkness as you close your eyes,
The trace the neck, the firm cleavage in the tank top going all the way below to your short skirt,
I am just brewing your thighs slowly,
Till you shed the shyness
Kiss my lips
And spread your legs, as I wanted.
Our lips meet in the darkness,
Trying to make the slightest of the sound,
I feel your tongue slowly licking mine,
You take my hand to your tank top where I press the breasts slowly and fill the comfortable bra.
We keep going on touchy in the dark
Feeling your nipples, your clevage and kissing you on the back,
The recliner helps, doesn’t it?
Writings to Heaven 