Month: June 2017

Unforgettable

Poetry

Unforgettable'

I forget not the gleam;

the gliding beam warping around her bare shape.
The mysteries awaiting to be explored;

adventures to be unraveled on her scape.

In the muffled light from the windows,

she stood like the work of a mad artist;

and literature of an impeccable juggler of metaphors.
I forget not the tender warmth;

under the open sky, on a vulnerable me,

her skin grew like tides do on the shores.

I forget not, the feeling, as she came over to me under the sheets

like dark clouds over a burnt terrain;

the cracks in me only yearning for the pour.
I forget not the scent; a petrichor of sorts;

the touch of her hide corrupting me into a greed of wanting more.

I forget not the afternoons spent in her arms;

that blur down to a shade of orange with which I paint my nights.
I forget not the beguile breasts; her mellow feet, invasive thighs

and other such luring sights.

A new flavour fills me every time

I helplessly obsess over that every detail still alive in me.
And I forget not how she caged me in herself forever

and at the same time set me free…

words by Deven

artwork by @EroticWaterColor

Silk and Witchcraft

Poetry

Silk and Witchcraft

A nectar of hypnosis dripped from her eyes and everywhere else,
I was her prey the moment she saw me notice her skin shine in the dancing lights.
She was like, a thousand silk worms had crawled up her bones to make all that flesh; unearthly smooth.
I was only but a thunderstruck brain reacting to a cosmos of neurochemicals that rushed inside of me at the sight of her.
A static of uncontrollable existence, the black of which deepened everytime her eyeballs met mine in the irrelevant crowd.
She had spells carved on her neck, the art of which only tasteful men understand.
Cotton sprung from below her high tied bun and the tickle was felt on my shoulder.
She was only looking at me but somehow I felt her all over.
I had not heard her voice, but I could listen to her whisper in my ear, followed by loud panting.
Her sweat had turned into bourbon that slithered down my spine as I sipped it.
And lips that would only seem to want my blood on them.
Every inch of me quivered as this absolute sculpture of lure played its games on me and pushed me into a pool of crave.
I was drunk to her venom, thought her arms are my grave.
Her strings were on me, like I was some unstable daft.
Even to imagine her kiss and spoil me, felt like witchcraft.

words by – Deven

artwork by – @EroticWaterColor