Little Death

Poetry

Little Death'

And so my palms meet her skin again;

softer than it did always feel in my countless reveries.

Her known, supple movement to my unravelling fingers,

comfort in on my weary hide.

As I reek of an unbathed longing;

She clasps on to me, my summer fragrance;

bringing mends to my broken side.

Season comes for our lips to meet;

 and then hers between mine, and mine between her feet.

Under unwashed sheets my cracks heal;

warming up to her in an everlasting seal.

But then the thirst defeats resistance;

 I crawl up back to her neck as my tongue treks the distance.

She bites her lip and in bliss we sigh;

while I kneel between her thigh.

With her legs around my hips, she holds her stance;

singing to our graceful dance.

Disrupting, my love, throws her head back and I bow mine.

As if possessed, as if stuck in time;

our limbs shiver as if having their own mind;

and we die, a little death…

At last into bones and flesh, she breaths life,

a strife with yearning comes to an end.

I make her mine, again, much more than any time before.

And lay there, still amused to the newness of her touch.

Floating weightless in a trance, in her arms;

I’m cured.

poem – Deven

artrwork – @alphachanneling

Deven A.

This blog consists of the detailed prose and poetic collections from the imprinted memories of the obsessive knack to live the hell out of life. I, Deven A. am a Filmmaker, Poet and Photographer who puts forth the data gathered by my sense organs and my mind, in whatever decorative manner of words I can thread together. Travelling is a way of living for me and the words published on this site are only fragments of the profound feelings felt, lessons learnt, and life lived on the road. The Bearded Highway-Man aims to capture and present the true spirit of travel, poetry and life in its crudest and purest form…
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