Come...
can your fingers
hear the throb behind
each pulsating capillary
as it echoes through
this winter morning?
can your skin
absorb the perfume
this skin exudes
filling the winter's
morning air?
see, how this
desire laden skin sprouts
zillion goose-pimples
as the mild morning breeze
blended with a nascent sun
laden with thoughts of you
brushes against...
come, my love...
gently blindfold me
with your love
that nothing else remains
except your love...
08nov2009
06.45hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Added by Poetry Lover
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