Thursday, August 23, 2012

found treasure

by Neel Akash on Sunday, August 2, 2009 at 11:50pm ·
oh, shameless i in your arms of good bones
speak your lips, my dear, i listen on feasting
my hungry heart of your incredulous compliments
perhaps in this misty, foggy whereabouts are pockets
of being at the right place at the right time
and you know it's been too much to uh-

too much to be able to cope with the complexity
of what's happening, right, wrong, wisdom, whatnot
i like holding you and long nails painted shiny maroon now
what color is that, like your hair in my dreams

don't worry about hurting me, you tell me no lie
i take your company a bonus each time and i
can't think if i ask for more, or what else
i might be missing out on, you know? the way i was?

i could walk away with a smirk on my face and disappear forever
almost, and hurt? yes, that strange feeling in your breast
i was holding someone tight when tears bawled on my chest sweat
i was breaking her heart, complacent and browsing the net
it's been too much, you know? sometimes, stones grow
in your heart

yes, you know, and i can't complain, or i won't
after what's been taken away from me by force or foolishness
you're a gusty wind, you make me happy when you open the hatch
and little blue birds fly out from your heart and you build that
fantasy you deserve, i sit and you play with the doll

i am just as tainted and torn as you are, you see that
and i see that too and it's like a secret joke between the two of us
we could laugh our hearts out over a glass of wine or two

but i keep scrutinizing your wickedly pretty eyes
that the rest of your body carries around in pride
sort of follows about, and that aquamarine blue top
drapes over your sensualities, the package deal
of your neck, especially when you tie your hair, missing tresses,
the backward bend of the waistline flanked by
the animated, artistically endowed arms

you could convince me to anything i wouldn't know it
you have attained that unquestionable status
you are a mood, a tone, timbre, i don't know
or perhaps it is the selection of the saris you wear
from your mother's old collection.

i have entered you
no matter what you do, i will, somehow, remain there

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