By Atulya Bajaj
Thy warm hands blaze my chest infallibly,
Ember-deep ignite unplumbed.
My face-tint—crimsoned, effervescent..
Shut retinas, shushed voice,
Coaxed to the haze of night.
Fingers stroll down lengths
of where perches thy soul—
The pristine of purely parched skin.
Enticed thumb searing parted lips,
Naked neck nods bare
as final abode of hands.
Beneath zenith breathes fondled shadow;
In gentle hands, your bulk weighs trivial.
Yet never do I pause, never do I tire,
For every reverie is an endless desire.
In illusion does touch lay on my skin—
How do I tame the fire within?
How do I tame the fire within?