Winter mornings.

"Remember when you felt so cold that you were convinced that no amount of heat in the world will ever make you feel warm again?
The chill that gripped your knees when you rode pillion on your dad's bike as he dropped you to school.
Your school skirt, sans a divider, awkwardly riding up your thighs while you sat straddling the seat between your legs.

Initially, the cold air had a bite, but twenty minutes into the ride, your legs were numb enough to not feel a thing.

The goosebumps moved along your body as quick as the sensation of pain advances across synapses to get to your brain and convey that the steel ladle you just touched, was extremely hit.

Initially, you kept expecting divine intervention where a gust of warm air would blow your way, but twenty minutes into the ride you felt the chill grip your vertebral column. It wasn't exactly that but it did feel that way.

This was 1995, twenty years back.
Today morning, you said you don't want me anymore. It was an illustration of how life comes full circle, because when you said "it is over" all I felt, was that feeling on the winter  morning, when I was convinced that no amount of heat in the world, would ever make me feel warm again."

Slice of you

There is a limit-less sea, between your lips. It is endless and it is beautiful. Every time you laugh during speech, this sea seems more overpowering to me, gaping at me, swallowing everything around it. I hope you catch me staring, and probably realize the magic that you hold, between the one part of your body that you categorize as completely non-monumental.
The boundaries to that space, I want to run a finger across them. Make that walk. I want my finger to trace where the pink of your lip dissolves into the wheat of your skin.
You are ostensibly unaware about my affection, about how I feel that the space between your lips, might be by the panacea to the poison that the bile in my liver fills me up with.
Nirvana might lie just there in that darkness, but this struggle is miserable. I analyze each action and reaction that you make, expecting so much and yet so little. With each accidental eye contact, I catch myself wishing for you to be entrapped by the depth of my eyes in the same innocent way in which the infinite expanse between your jaws has me reduced to a limb-less spectator.

Tomorrow morning, I might have forgotten this paradise of sensation and feeling that you have, unknowingly taken me to, today.
Tomorrow I might just find faults in your teeth structure, but today I wish to roll around in the gloriousness of your mouth.

Fescapedes: 1

Your eyes, are crystals.
They sparkle every time I look into them.
To be the reason for their sparkle, I haven't been better flattered ever before.
I presume it is me, the reason behind that sparkle.
I close my eyes and lean in to feel the world spiral in my head as we kiss,
With half shut eyes, from beneath the curtain of my lashes, I see them sparkle, for some other miss.