I come back home,
to find a trail
of your clothes
and your inner-wear
leading me to the
swimming pool,
where you lay
with your legs spread,
nipples erect and
hands wet from
touching the
necessary places.
No wonder I forgot to ask,
‘What is for Dinner Tonight?’.
The Feast was ready.
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
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.
my pillows turns cold
the tongues go dry
an uneasiness dissolves in the air
as it realizes a possibility
where you turn into a shadow
with no face,
your laughter that does not end in
kissing me for no reasons
our cuddling sleeps together do not turn into memories that are so close to edges of realities and so deep in the pools of dream.
the shades of skies melt,
it rains,
and I am standing alone
waiting for it all to be nightmare.
waiting for you to hold me from behind
telling it will be alright soon.
Go to sleep now
and don’t forget my chocolates.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
The night dissolved with us,
muted to the voiceless moans.
The clothes lay on the floor
as a tribute to the tempting aches,
given in to.
the first ray of dawn traces your neck
untouching your deep slumber.
My lips crave for a taste of flesh caressed with warm light.
the lips surge a tremor within you,
but you are a city used to earthquakes in moonlights.
I trace it from the neck to the breasts
notoriously ; with a hope of a early summer brewing in my heart somewhere.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Writings to Heaven 