Thursday, December 20, 2007


Maybe a small, in fact miniscule,
lavender bouquet for your birthday.
A sweet-smelling,
soft medley of whispers
gift-wrapped in orange blossoms.

Maybe a journey
into the centre of your eyeballs
honey and treacle, melted
smooth-flowing into
your memories.

Maybe a brush
against your breast
dragonfly wings fluttering
on butter.

Maybe a glance, framed in guilt
maybe a touch
maybe a word
maybe a whole belated lifetime.


Sowmya said...

I liked this one. If most of them were to think aloud, this is what they would write. But i dont understand the "guilt". WHY?

Pramshanks said...

Dear Sowmya

Glad you liked it... guilt comes from the thought that one might have crossed a thin line (even though the line may exist only in one's own mind).

Thanks for the feedback.