You And Me – Solitary Amid Silent Ruins

I am tired of building sand castles, tired of so tastefully infusing each grain with love and passion only to be swept away by tide or the strong breeze blowing across the oceans that lie between us. Nothing remains, not even ruins. Nothing but handfuls of sand slipping through my fingers into the void left by crashing waves. I love the stories written in stones and bricks, ancient, crumbling structures that once were home to lovers and kings, temples made in honor of goddesses, tombs, castles and once vibrant, thriving city states now nothing but crumbling ruins shrouded in folklore, mystery, and intrigue, blurring that thin line between myth and reality. Each brick, each stone whispering a story. Touch them, run your hand on these broken walls and they will come alive and speak to you of passion, betrayal, envy, compassion, deceit, and death, everything that love is capable of. Sometimes I feel they were built as ruins and all the grandeur was added to them only to fall off with time to reveal once gain the alluring perennial beauty like that of a  woman whose true essence lies underneath the layers and layers that cover her. Her true self emerges only when all the veils drop.

Ruins have that strong naked feminine energy running through them, holding them together in all their beauty despite the ravages of time. Tinged with melancholy there is an unsaid acceptance that these ruins are more real than the perfection we aspire to.

We ventured into this haze, arms locked together, hand in hand strange warmth radiating between us, a light squeeze of hand in the grip of another, a message, assurance of being there in that moment. We traced invisible lines on the crumbling walls, our fingers laced together as one. It was in this moment of togetherness I realized even if this meeting had an end at least it had a beginning.  Time stood still as we talked along the trodden path. The fringes of the day lingered on the arches and columns that stood like trees of life. Supporting whatever still remained of the glorious past. The stones spoke to me and I seemed to know their mute language, and they too seemed to understand what I felt.

Patches of light played hide and seek on the building facades as the sun played mysteriously sought its path among the silhouettes frozen in time. He was a tourist I a traveler  seeking something more than what lay before my eyes but somehow it was enough to just be with him even in our differences.  The unintentional occasional brush against each other sent sparks shooting up my spine like a comet. I wondered what feelings these ruins evoked in him. Between the sunset of past glory and an uncertain dawn he and I stood separated by a dark frightening night.

Today I stand solitary amid the silent ruins. We never really forget someone after we have felt their hands, their fingerprints on ancient walls, after we have engrained their body heat into our very body chemistry and the fragility of it all. Today these ruins are filled with silent murmurs of our hearts. I ran my fingers along the weather-beaten Gothic columns like prayer wheels of monastery and suddenly I felt his presence, as if he had come back to me travelling all the seven thousand five hundred miles, filling all the gaps and cracks in me, filling the emptiness, the void, for I am a ruin myself, wandering among the ruins.

I leaned against the pillars draped in twilight and felt my inner darkness merge with the lengthening shadows of these pillars. I began to walk along the familiar path, now empty and more ruinous that it was meant to be. I reached the arch from where we had looked down upon the eerily silent, dramatic, desolate vast expanses of structures with dark lonesome interiors. My own loneliness and the pain of separation began to rise from some deep dark crevice within. The walls of my heart resembled those that lay beyond the frame the door made. Piles and piles of abandoned stones once part of some structure built brick by brick with some ol’ loving hands now in ruins flung up in jealous rage by winds of change. No wonder these ruins remind me of love, of distances, of  deep sorrow that clings to the senescent walls like jungle vines eclipsing everything that comes in its way.

Strange, how darkness paints everything in its own color.  I climbed the staircase into the open, out of the darkest recesses of my being. These stairs had seen many ups and downs in the lives of those who lived and dreamed. I chased scents of those as the landscape began to dissolve into inky night.  Sometimes a sorrow greater than ours acts like a sedative and tranquilizes the emotional pain, the ruins did just that today and now It was time to leave , the company of inner storm and wind that rushed through the decaying, neglected, lonesome structures of the past.

I know why I love to linger among them. It is because they aren’t neat and safe like buildings of today too superficial and undisturbing. It is only in the broken, obscure, jumble one can find oneself. only here one can shed all that is not part of the real self and look at the naked truth. I picked a handful of sand and watched it slip slowly from between my fingers.  Just like time.

The moment that brought us together as one had ended. Each of us carried with them a part of other. He was gone for I don’t know how long and left me wrapped in a myriad of emotions. I took the bridge which he had crossed with me that day filling my world with laughter, love and an immense feeling of togetherness leaving the shadows of the past behind.

I will wait for you as these ruins wait for travelers who seek the voice of  their soul. I will wait for you to run your fingers along the contours of my body just as we ran them along the walls and columns, plinths and arches. I will wait, even though it is hard to be left behind.  I want to get used to this feeling that you are with me even though you are not by my side or may never be. Waiting isn’t about patience or even hope, it is about keeping the dream alive for sometimes it is the only thing one has. The only thing to live for. A mirage that keeps a lost and lonesome traveler alive with hope in the harsh reality of life. I know that no oasis awaits me with its bountiful gifts .. love is sometimes just a distant dream, togetherness an illusion. Sometimes one knows one’s place -  outside the periphery, just as these ruins in the desert and that is the beauty of it.

I would like to thank James Goddard  for allowing me to use these excellent photographs from his travels to Syria and Spain. The photo credit goes  to him. 

This is the last post of the  series    You and Me .. at least for now ..

You and Me – Billet-doux like crushed violets on white satin sheet

It was a brief encounter. So brief that before they could get over the clumsiness of it all, it got over leaving them yearning , longing , desperately wanting to stop the hands of clock so they could spend one more night together, one more day, one more hour of togetherness.

The reason I write in third person is because I want to look at  it from a distance. The ‘ I ‘ dissolved in those moments what have left  scent of love in my hair, in memories that nestle in the hollow of my neck, in the delicate web of my fingers and in places that blossomed and came to life only after he touched. First the mind, then the  heart, and then the body.

In waves of breathless, mindless ecstasy
he breathes in, sharp
she purrs, catlike

her body a Smörgåsbord

he savours her

each pip

crushes between

ravenously longing

tongue and teeth

and lips

pomegranate

knutschfleck the color of orgasms

sensuous syllables

in blushed hues of red

billet-doux

like crushed violets

on white satin sheet

revealed

the morning after

a phantasmal explosion of a rainbow awry

Psychedelic bodies

engulfed

consumed

colonized

The meteoric more beautiful

than the everlasting 

*

they parted

carrying

 scent of each other
the warmth of their passion

only to float

 into each others dream

a dream that flew

across a thousand miles

and two oceans in between

A dream that stupefied her. She went through it in a trance like state. All the romanticized notions that she had built up in her mind evaporate through thin air.  All that remained were the bodies - arms entangling and untangling. His voice touching places inside her as if someone moving through a house flicking light switches. Her mouth a molotov. The smell of sex charged the room, circling over them like a ghost.

Love when turned to passion is brave, furious and loud. There is no time for fantasies and honeyed mush. When passion takes over you don’t want a just a heart, you want everything -  flesh, blood, and bones. You want to occupy every thought, every breath, every pulse. You want fingerprints tattooed all over you. It is strange, this fire that ignites two human bodies. It’s a fire that consumes without burning. A fire that transcendent and purifies everything.

She felt like a lovely bonfire burning day and night on a tropical coast filled with scent of salt that gently tickles down the spine and the heat that melts the body like wax embraced by the flame. A teasing burn of silky excitement, noting like anything she had felt before. Nothing could calm this sensation but sin and for once she was ready for it.

Quickies don’t include showers nor luxurious soaks in tubs with rose petals floating in them. They include blind and furious salt laced bodies, tongues and mouths driven by thirst.

They lay there in the realm of sleep, without sleeping,  half with fear , half with wonder at what they had awakened in each other. Trembling in bitter-sweet longing, enchanted, bewitched.  Suspended in time and place. And then they kissed – his lips on hers telling all that which his stumbling words could never do.

She let him sleep. All disheveled and unwound. His head buried between her breasts. Dressed in nothing but his undress like a careless animal.  She watched his body slowly become a silhouette and longed to mold it into hers  but stopped. She loved to watch him as he lay in deep slumber. Her heart beat outside her body flushed with this new-found deep sexual pleasure. She felt anesthetized  by sensations one can’t speak of without sounding absurd. One can only sentimentalized it after it is over.

Here was the man she loved, like a  child with his appetites. She had yielded to him what he wanted, willingly. She let him ruin her with his intense love. In those intimate hours with herself she felt the fervent rush inside her which had known no outlet till now.

The wooden floor creaked under her bare feet as she carefully tip-toed to the bathroom. Turning on the light she gazed at her nude body that  quivered with magic and mayhem of the moments gone by. She smiled at the silliness of all that she had imagined and fantasized about both of them. Reality was far more fascinating than fiction. Every pore of her body sent out a message that said , “I am here. I am alive.”  The cold water from the tap sizzled on her smooth skin and electrified her entire body. She let it trickle down the hollow of her neck and flow like a rivulet between her aching breasts. Her cheeks were on fire by realization of the fact that for once in her entire life she gave in completely to her desires. Unrestrained, Unchained and she felt gloriously happy.

Tomorrow she would wander with him amid the beautiful ruins.

As she synced her breathing with his she realized something. From now on she would live two lives – one that she was living and one that she would always wonder about. A dream within a dream. A life  that lay beyond the invisible line that separated their worlds. A line she will never be able to cross. A line that told her place. She brushed the thought aside. This was their time and she did not want to lose even a moment.  The morning sun will bring the hour of separation closer but for now the shadow of her arm circled his waist  and neither the sleep or the night could separate them.

PHOTOSHOP IMAGE copyright-  tikulicious©

You can read the rest of the posts in the series here YOU AND ME 

Would you hold me? Give a real hug?

I like the way you say “we will find a way”. I like the word “we”. It feels like a warm hug even from such a distance. I have lived a life fractured into “You” and “I”.  It never became “we” until you came in it.

It is true that every time I think of you  it is like getting a hug from inside out but sometimes the want for a real hug consumes me like a wild-fire. I wonder if the love we put into words will ever transform into hugs - real hugs not virtual.

I have forgotten how a  real hug feels like, the warmth of a human body against yours, nothing sexual or romantic but just a need to be held. I can’t remember even if I go back looking through my youth or even my childhood. Just simple hug, that cocaine high , that surge in the blood, that solace of being desired, that shamanistic, trance like feeling of ecstasy which strangely illuminates from within.   I desire you in the simplest way, simpler than you can think of and this desire is constellation of  wants and needs, hopes and dreams exploding inside me yearning for that one hug. The warmth of your arms around me.

I get that warmth from the words you say and write and the yearning increases with each day.

Sometimes I sit and wonder, why do we feel so uncomfortable giving a hug as we grow up? We don’t teach our children importance of non-sexual touch. They grow up without that knowledge and don’t know what to do when someone wants to hug them. They freeze. They feel confused when a sudden voice from inside tells them to go embrace someone. They burn but can’t bring themselves to give a simple hug. It surprises me how my own boys somehow lack in this especially when I instilled it in them. I guess society has a lot to do with this inhibition we have. These simple gestures of holding hands, hugging are lost in the rigid norms society enforces on us. It is surprising that two girls hanging out, hugging , walking hand in hand, giving a friendly peck on the cheek is acceptable but when boys do it becomes a matter of concern and ridicule, something abnormal, out-of-place. What kind of world are we living in? Aren’t we depriving our children of basic human needs? What will they become when they grow up, if not skewed up, frustrated adults fighting with their basic instincts?

We grow up to be icons of romance, fulfil those slush fantasies but so lack in these simple things. It is strange that sometimes those in a relationship/ marriage too lack these simple pleasures just like we, the lonely ones do. It is not gender or age based either.  We connect with each other at many levels but not on this one. There are times when one wants to give a hug and restrains and if one gets a hug one freezes and shrugs it off. Either way we lose, curl up, and go into a shell yearning for a  hug.

Empty hearts give empty hugs, even the pleasure of sex quickly goes cold in cold arms. I have been there so I know. They are just physical motions one goes through, a routine, devoid of love, desire, care or longing empty arms which may feel warm but leave your cold and drained. Slowly that dies too leaving a void, a starved body longing for human touch. Nothing is more bitter than to be forced to submit to the falseness of love. To endure the cage of arms that suck life out of you instead of  nurturing it.

I long for those arms, those arms that can end the growing longing; arms that would wrap me in the comfort of loving energy that matches mine. Arms that would make me feel safe, cared, understood for who I am. Not possessed, owned or used as an object, not holding me as an obligation to dead vows .

I sometimes feel like hugging random people on streets but I notice how suspicious we are of each other. We restrain ourselves and lock ourselves afraid that the floodgates of human emotions may overflow. Unsure if we can handle the deluge. We give virtual hugs freely but a real hug is a herculean task. I have felt the flow of energy even when touched accidently but it just ends in a surprised reaction. Hardly anyone gives a real hug these days. It has been reduced to a social gesture. We hug our animal companions more than we hug our fellow human beings. Isn’t it something to think about? Have you ever wondered “why”? Why is there such a social disconnect?

I sometime ..no, actually all the time … feel the need to put my head in someone’s lap or shoulder and cry or open my arms to someone who needs it, to stroke someone’s hair, to simply hold someone’s hands, simple things that words can never express.

You have to be in this place to feel the emptiness of the feeling of having someone who can change this forever and yet being a distant dream. This feeling is beyond the loneliness of any sort.

To be held in true love is a rare experience these days, be it from children, parents, friends, lovers, be it in any relationship even marriage.

I am looking for those arms, those arms which would hold me and true love, compassion of human heart, comfort and understanding.

Would you hold me? Would you turn those words into real hugs?

Would you?

You know

I would

If you choose so

Till then I will just desire. Feel your words wrap me in their warmth and make my fragmented state of ordinary life a little coherent. No longer scattered like autumn leaves through  time and space but contained at one place. In You.

When was the last time you gave or got a real hug?

If it makes you think, I feel for you.

Here is one  for you

You and I – Secret Tales

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving.”  Neruda

There is a certain relish in what you steal, in savoring the flavour of forbidden fruit. Stolen kisses . … stolen moments … a sudden brush against me in the cyberspace that made my soul dizzy. Today I am searching for words, searching for those apt words to describe the feeling of intense love that I feel for you. Love that is not laced with passion or lust or longing but with a  warmth that rises from different strategically located places in your body and then slowly sweeps over your entire being .

You entered my life like a comet and exploded into a zillion stars, illuminating my night , my life, me. I felt star spattered. A blooming new galaxy.

You made me feel like meadow of wild flowers. Not roses. Not tulips. No. Just a beautiful landscape blazing with thousands and thousands of wild flowers.

You brought out all the essences of a woman in me. The wild gypsy girl , the sensuous lover, the porn star, a nurturer and a healer . You stimulated and ignited my intellectual side, spiked it with wit and humor.

With that and much more you gave me dignity, honored my womanhood, held my hand and pulled me up into the comfort of your embrace.  Shielding and protecting me like a cocoon. A womb for my metamorphosis.

Unlike all those who scarred my life where ever it touched theirs, you asked for nothing in return and that I guess made me open myself to you completely without fear and inhibitions.

This is called Trust.

One doesn’t sign a treaty for this. One just believes totally and with no reservations and second thoughts.

This is called Love .

Across thousands of miles hearts connect, blossom into something nameless. Something much above the usual norms of friendship and romance, above everything that’s temporal and ephemeral.

I know when we meet , it will be enough for me to just sit beside you.

There were million little things that added up together over the time and I knew we were destined to be together. I knew it the first time we reached out to each other. It was like a journey back home and You were the talisman I needed to survive the highest highs and the lowest lows.

It is so simple to love you. To go about doing the mundane just with knowledge that you are there. It’s easy to let you be with your solitude, understand the language of your quiet and return when beckoned with love.  It is an aromatic blend of cinnamon and clove, ginger and honey, strawberry and cream,  Fragrant Tisanes.  It is the raw mango and mint. It is the citrus moon and the marmalade sky.

A margarita with its lush flavors and smooth delicate blend in a salt rimmed glass. A long tropical cocktail. A tequila shot. Single malt on a rainy day besides the fireplace.

We are different, yet similar. Distant  and alone yet together. Whatever we do is as much  yours as mine. Love grows in spaces between, not in bodies or someplace else.

Every time you call my name some piece of me falls into place. I’m glad to have you in my life. I feel  infused with glitter and stars and popping candy. It’s flowing in my blood and brain. fingertips and toes. I love him. I don’t know how to describe how happy I am. I am still searching for some apt words to describe my love for you.

For now I will just surrender myself to you, my laughter, pain, truth, lies, half-truths, half lies, my hopes, dreams and secrets, my fleeting days, endless nights, . I give you my flesh my skeleton . I let you occupy me. I will remain vulnerable for that is how love is supposed to be.

There is a pleasure in simple things. Simple words of love carelessly thrown , stolen kisses, stolen moments. These are secret tales. You may have your own. We all have unbridled desires, secret wish lists and they all start coming out when you are in love. 

read all the posts here YOU AND ME 

You and I – Corazon

Heart 

helium filled balloon

there is goes 

floating into unknown

chasing dreams

mine but not really 

who is it seeking ?

who knows? 

whose calling ?

Only the heart knows

I am flawed, fractured,scared and I know am living an impossible dream Love is a long haul and am ready to brave the tides and the whirlpools, storms and crushing waves.  I call it impossible not because I fear of losing it but because you are afraid to push though your fears. Nothing kills love more brutally than our own incapability to hold it together.

we talk more say less

think more act less

hear more listen less 

forget more remember less

empty more fill less 

conceal more reveal less 

take more give little

we leave a lot unsaid undone 

we do everything wrong 

just about everything

we turn love into a mental illness 

we pretend

we deny

and then we regret

we suffer

we live a heartache

.

 .

.

I wrote a letter to you last night. I wrote it on a white paper. With a pencil. I did not just write it to fill the nightmarish hours, or to make it seem as close to reality as possible, nor did I write it so I could trace my fingers over it and feel the throb of each word. I did not write it to bring it to my lips and kiss the way I would have loved to kiss you – gently or to inhale your imagined warmth from it.

 I wrote it for a simple reason that I missed you in the most desperate human way. Raw naked want. Just that. Simple hunger. No , not the one that consumes the body and makes it burn over the cool white sheets. Not that. A want , a hunger of togetherness. Of being with each other.

It is something very private. Something that you may not even feel or may clothe it with your perfectly woven wordrobe so that it loses bits of its reality but I, I miss you more than you can imagine, more that I can  believe and I was prepared to miss you a great deal you see. This missingness is a deluge.

How do you miss someone whom you haven’t met in flesh and blood?

Why?

Let us not debate that. This is not a courtroom. This is not a trial of love .

It just is . Period.

It is a wait.

A wait that maybe you may realize and accept  that you too want me with the same intensity after all.

If not , maybe you will gather strength to say it otherwise, to put love to trial, to hold court, and the verdict will be given and love will lead us to our separate graves.

Have you walked through empty corridors? There is an intimacy there. Like love. It fills you.  A fusion of light and dark. Shadow and light.

Sometimes I feel you brush past against me , a presence, just as you in my mind, in my heart, sending a tingling sensation down the nape of my neck all the way to the small of my back.  It gets under my skin, circulates, and takes residence at various places I had forgotten they existed.

I wrote to you with a pencil .. why ? you will ask.

I never liked pens. I like the black on white. I like the fragility and fluidity of writing with a pencil. I like the way it softly moves, like foreplay.  Pens are crude in my opinion. violent.

There is a movement in words written with pencil.. I watch them lazily curl up on your pillow or slide beneath your nightshirt clinging to your chest, I watch them nestle in your hair as my fingers would. I watch them trace patterns on your body like kisses.  They are secrets, sensuous syllables cuddled under the supple  folds of your skin. Taking your shape, spooning . Only words written with pencil can do this. This perfect merger of hard lead and soft smooth delicate paper. Only they come with so many more possibilities.

Only they can map the topography of your body without leaving a tell-tale sign, silently like a tendril wrapped around a stem. With thousand miles between us I let them make what we can not. Love

So I wrote a letter to you last night, like every night . I can not keep away from you.

Go buy a pencil. Run your fingers over its spine. Hold it gently. Let its soft tip move on a white paper. Let the heart do the rest.

I wrote to you a letter like I do each night  and tied it to my heart .. there it goes .. it will find you … if you chose so.

Read all the YOU AND I posts here.

You and I – Unrequited Love

Days and nights have suddenly turned cold in the middle of summer. Cold and Hard like last year’s loaf of bread. I slice them with blunt knives and chew on them without appetite.  Indifferent messages do little to bridge the aching distance or break the deafening  silence that has occupied every fiber of life nor does an occasional assemble of  affectionate words give any comfort. Even though the heart longs, it knows it will never get more than that.

I wonder if this pitiless indifference is subterfuge for hiding the torments of love or it is  the opposite of love. Love has denied rest to my soul and slumber to my eyes. I have begun to dread the approaching night. It deepens the loneliness and hurt as I stare into the vast emptiness of the dark sky. A lonesome moon sometimes glides past the window and lying on my bed, fatigued by days of sleeplessness, I watch it disappear from sight.

Words that I wrote for you float like pipe dreams, adding fuel to the slow fire consuming me from within. It is funny how presence makes itself felt more poignant through absence. Stray memories come to haunt , it is amazing how darkness brings things to life, gives them a form, a voice.

I lie as still as possible , least I disturb your silence and it moves away just as you have. I don’t even dare to breathe.

Mind is a fucking manipulating control freak and in those moments of vulnerability , it leaves no chance to whiplash.

There is no feeling worse than knowing you weren’t worthy of truth, of love, of sharing, of  togetherness, of complete oneness, not even an incomplete one. Unrequited love curls itself in some secret crevice , wounded and bleeding. It doesn’t die.

There is always a part of me that hopes for more, and so there is a part of me that is always a fool. Love does that.

Am facing a silence so cold, so sharp you could cut yourself on it.  There is nothing so hurtful, nothing so bare and forlorn as the silence that falls like swords on two people who no longer know what to say to one another, and it is the kind of silence that tells you that you are no longer of any importance to that person, who really is no longer even there; it is a silence that renders you invisible.

It has rendered me invisible. Some days ago I wrote , sometimes one knows one’s place – outside the periphery.. The words come out so powerfully now. It is all good to talk of giving space etc, of trust and understanding and being comfortable even in silence of a loved one but this is not that silence.. this is a silence that cripples.

It’s a marvel that even with such agony the longing doesn’t diminish , it continues to feed on the loneliness and gain strength. It grows stronger , so does love- even the unrequited one, for it has its own rainbows.

“Because, if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back . . . then that love had to be real. It hurt too much to be anything else.”-Sarah Cross

but the other part holds true too. We are creatures of desire and desire needs to be respected.

Love needs to be fed. Nurtured. Nourished. It needs to be deeply felt.

It needs to be reciprocated.  Replenished.

It needs to be expressed. In actions as well as words

Especially when words are the only medium.

Unrequited love is an orphan of silence.

Abandoned to fend for itself  during the endless days and never-ending nights.

Read all YOU AND ME  posts here 

You and Me- Let me cafuné * you tonight

Let us do something different with our nights. Let us take off to someplace unknown. Far from the madding crowd.

Let me cofuné you. Your head on my breast. Eyes closed.

Let us spread the buttergold moon over each other’s bodies. Let it melt on the tips of our hungry tongues.

Let us open our arms wide like fishing nets and catch some stars. If not , then just lie down still,  your body against mine,  under the open sky and watch the night sky.

Let us just throw every last care away. Let’s be happily hopelessly  messy.

Let’s eat with bare hands, no spoons, knives, forks.  Let fingers, tongue and mouth replace ‘em.

Let us lose track of time Time. Disconnect.  Do away gadgets. Switch off.

Let’s indulge.  Draw a bath,  light candles, slip into the warm water. Smoldering pools of liquid heat.

Let us sleep like commas. Sweat, moisture, supple, soft folds of skin concealing the hearts of desire.

Let us curl up and make each other laugh, play checkers or just listen to the sound of our heart, warm, live, improvident, indecent hearts .

Let us throw ourselves over the edge.

Let us forget who we are, forget from where we are, forget the world, forget everything , nullify everything but that we are together in that moment.

Let us take the empty road, absorb each other and the sounds of night.

We will have other crazy things to do when the day breaks..

Love is worth it.

Let us love and mean it.

Cafuné: From Brazilian Portuguese, meaning to tenderly run one’s fingers through someone’s hair.

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You and Me – More places where I found you

I found you in the creases of my bed, in the mirror when I suddenly turned around and glanced at it, in silence of early morning and in the stillness of the night, in the rise and fall of my chest, in the warmth of water cascading down my aching shoulders, in my fingertips as they traced upon all that you wrote to me, in the webs between the fingers, in the heat nestled between the legs, in the vodka flavored ice cubes  kissing my lips and dripping down my neck, in the salt of my tears, in the honey dripping from a hot crisp toast as it touched my mouth, in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, in the box of spices ( cinnamon and clove ),  in the swirl of Bavarian chocolate ice cream as  it melted on my tongue,  in the jingle of the charms of my bracelet, in the kohl that lined my eyes, in the softness of  lingerie that clinged to my body, in the changing colors of the sky, in the delicate ensemble of words, in the early morning drizzle, in the depth of the night sky, in tequila sunsets, in the shadows of dusk, in the tangerine mornings, in the droplets of water precariously clinging to my wet hair, in the blush that rises on my cheeks, in the base of my throat, in the half-open box of crayons, in the edge of the rose-tinted cloud, in the jingle of coins in my pocket, in the swaying sheer curtains, in the prayer flags fluttering in the summer breeze, in the smoothness of cocoa butter as it melted and morphed  into the skin to become my body, in the soft moonlight that filtered through the bare branches of trees, in the paper boat merrily drifting , in the whistle of the steam engine as it turned around the corner, in a folder named “favorite” , in the music that linked us  from across the miles, in the sensuous sweetness of your name when I whispered it in my sleep, in the verses of Neruda as I feasted on them tucked inside the comforter, in scent of cookies baking in the warm oven, in the bowlful of vodka flavored ice cubes and the lemon slice that floats in it, in the smile that struggled through the tears, in the changing shapes of raindrops on the cold glass windowpane, in the heat rising from the city roads, in the fiery magenta, pinks, oranges , whites and yellows of Bougainvillea draped over ancient walls and clinging to the naked trees, in the folds of my laughter and in the eyelids heavy with sleep, in the changing temperature of cold marble floor beneath my burning body, in the thirst that rose in my parched throat and in the  subtle flavours of my life. 

I can go on making a list , listing all those dark secret places where I found you , those mundane things that remind me of you like a baby sleeping peacefully in comfort of his mothers arms, his little head resting on her soft breast.

Now I want something Real, something truly your own to  touch and smell and breathe and kiss day and night.

I want to find you in you and in me at the same time. 

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You and Me – You are where I find you

Some day

Digital art on Photosh0p CS3 by me.

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You and Me – Touch

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever touch you but with these words.  Words that fill the infinite whiteness of the screen and emptiness of my life. In a technologically powered relationship, that’s all I have. Words, quickly tip- tapped on a keyboard. I try to give them soul, bring them to life. add flavor to them, try to see your zest and humor in them, the charm, the seductive laugh , the warmth that trickles down the spine and makes me forget that I have knees.

I try to feel the fits of kindness, your bouts of rage, the maddening rush inside you that electrifies each pore , each cell of your body when you type those words at an alarming pace, a pace quicker than your racing heartbeat, try to make them as intimate and sentimental as they can ever be. I turn them into thoughts and make love to them, smudge them with tears, trace my fingertips over the neatly arranged lines, feel you with my finger tips in them. I linger over each syllable and watch it pulsate with hunger or thirst. I feel my fingerprints merge with yours and feel your touch. I take  a dip in them with you.

I get drunk on those words, wait for them to flash on the screen as text, IM, email, on FB, Messenger app. and  let them have their way with me. The way it would have been with you. I take them to bed,  fold them and tuck them inside my heart, and carry them where ever I go.  What if one day we were suddenly removed from these modern gadgets of conveniences?  These words will be all that we will have to hold on to.

Although words bridge the distance between us, I still yearn for a handwritten note from you, a picture I can hold in my hands and place upon my ravaged heart. That is till I have something better than words. Till we create a deeper play than words can.  They will do till then, though they fall short for want of the exact emotion/feeling they should evoke at  certain time.  Keep writing to me so we can be together. Something that in reality only time will tell.

Let the words be personified into us. Let them conjure up the flesh for that’s what they are meant to do in your absence. Let them be your  figures, your tongue, your damp body resting against mine. Let them sustain me in such times of hunger just as your voice does. Let them hand feed me the longings, the secrets, the desires that nothing else but your touch can do. Let me amble on the delicate assembly of vowels and give them your voice. Let us stay wrapped in the warmth of the  wordrobe around our bodies. Let them lean over my shoulder and whisper what you have no courage to give sound to. Let them nibble at my earlobes and bite my mouth with hungered teeth. Let them slide into the folds of my body. Let them still my heart.  Let them melt between my legs. Let them run through my hair as your fingers would and trail behind my ear down the nape of the neck and all the way to the small of my back.

Let us map the topography of our  body, mind and soul through them. Patiently with love.

Maybe this burning patience will some day lead to splendid happiness, till then let words water our dreams.

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A Blogadda Tangy Tuesday Pick.