indira babbellapati

(visakhapatnam, india)

A poem written on a late afternoon


A poem on a late afternoon

They moved;
sometimes in rhythm
sometimes tangent.

The night elongated
its limbs and paused
wherever they chose.

Whispers.
Caresses.
Twitches.

Held between your hands
sometimes it's
hot n humid.
Sometimes rain drummed.
At times it's chilly winter.

How the hands flew past!

Like birds in distress.
Like pigeons cooing.
Like peacock inviting...

Whispers.
Silences.
Gasp s.

Throb. Throb. Throb!

Desire hung;
a sack of honey
dribbling!

Submitted: Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, February 12, 2014

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