Sunday, April 11, 2010


Steam

A gust of hot shower,
like the first June drops of rain.
In the shower stall, mist and breath merge
like tongues seeking lust-bubbles.

A jaw clamps a shoulder, raising alarm
on the soap-stream sliding down from the neck.
A hand
- opening, closing, tracing, moving -
trails down a goose-bump, then cups.

On a lone soap-dome, a tiny rainbow bursts.
Its ghost slithers down the chin, the neck;
rests in a tiny hollow, gets split by a nestling hair.
Firm softness pulses to the rising rhythm
of hearts' beats.
A voyaging shampoo-drop snuggles
into a navel.

Higher above, an eyelash trembles.
A word, unsure and unchristened,
reflects on a sigh, retreats.
A loofah, aided by trembling fingers,
finds a mate in a valley.

Heat, having left the shower, reaches for the sinews.
A tiny muscle twitches on a glistening calf.
A wandering nail resurrects
a forgotten pore.

On the floor, wetnesses meet in slippery silence
.

5 comments:

Tinker Belle said...

Ingenious. :) :) :)

Sowmya said...

This is one of your best :)

I have heard poetry is always inspired from reality... If that is so, then... so many questions arise ;-)

Shoonyata said...

beautiful :)))

Kiran said...

Exquisite! I love it!
Why "Steam"?

Pramshanks said...

@Tinker, Shoonyata: thanks!
@Sowmya: go ahead, ask me the questions.
@Kiran: I couldn't find a better name! Please suggest something if you can!