creative-writing, dream, Poems, Poetry, poetry, Prose

Rotten Bones and Displaced Heart

There is no shame in choking the uneasiness
out of one’s sleep.

My larynx melts
when it is this dark.
The neck dissolves itself,
into a pool of subtle cold regrets

Silence drapes my bones
in a shroud of voiceless memories
rotting them, turning them
into the color of a fragile copper abandoned
in an unnamed graveyard.

It is basically a practice of perfection,
to death: the permanent sleep,
the unanswered question stabs
the unasked answer,
The god with no eyes and a displaced heart
just sighs.

– Shashank Bhardwaj

creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, Love, poetry, Prose

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?