Full moon, cold blue lips
desert hot
made as red as in the pic
with a kiss
taught
stolen
by the devil
in a dervish's swirling mist
 


Even till the last second that something in me died
you still looked chocolate brown seductive and endearing
Why then did the music stop
My heart go cold and grow still
to stop beating

Your charms fall on deaf ears
I light match after match in vain to try
to again spark the fire 
in my heart where once it blazed
and now there is only the ashes
not the wood or the shaving, not the coal or the kindling
I strike match after match in vain
Though you still remain to others as ravishing as you were to me
even to that last second when the music
stopped and I to you died
 


The moon behind you
white globe artificial shines
and your armpits
sleeveless
entire
entice seduce
shining with the light
of my aching concupiscence
that knows tantric delight and does not differentiate
but wants all and sundry
longs to be not in the light 
but the dark
wherein the feel of such fair skin lost to all sense of propriety 
I can do the seldom talked of rubbing glide, slide, and ride
 


Come, let me undo the unseen laces of your dress
and feet
watch the fabric swish and fall
around you, on the floor
to reveal 
not the cold of marble that struck pale fire from you
but the heat of the warmth of a hand and the burning that it feels when placed between your thighs
that is the fire burning in your poetry of lights and passion filled eyes when in the grip of lust, love and life
and in my nights that sight of hot flesh that is pliant
make the muse also to set a roaring fire ablaze in me that
cannot be doused 
that longs for the cleft between your breasts as fiercely as 
these words that are wrought magicks of images
making love to the empty air to come
in arcs of fountains
imaginary steeds leaping into wombs to bring forth children
marching hard, proud sentinel throbbing guard of long lines of verse to crown that picture
in the mind, of the real muse and not some however beautiful and graceful stone sculpture


Wind your hair around your face
and let the zephyr blow it across its space
while feeling as if sprayed by drops of rain in the monsoon
my whole body arches in the sudden drive to plunge in the
torrent of words, windblown, windswept, windwept, windhover,windworn, windlorn, windtorn, windwound,                           winding down after the climax
wingdings
wrapped in the wrinkles of a sari that flies in the breeze
upwards and reveals to the mind's eye-boggling blowing sights that allure
and make one gently die


Naked as thirst
and nude as water
elongating longing
in a haze of silver
and gypsy mirrors
on the blouse's brocade work
that, swelled fully in the night
brings rain and desire
blush veiled
and behind it the heart