SatinMaybe a small, in fact miniscule,
lavender bouquet for your birthday.
A sweet-smelling,
feather-furry-felt-
downy,
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.
2 comments:
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?
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.
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