Not Just a G String

There are rounded monoliths that rise To proclaim their own turf, as eyes pop out like springs To wonder, what heaven am I in. And strangely there is no string theory here. Just Lady Godiva explaining the physics Of the buoyancy of her buttocks. And I wonder, how tight the flanking Knots are, seemingly carless…

Day

The script of change The evangelization of darkness To the democracy of light A little ball of fire, an orb oozing out of the ocean Climbing on an azure shoulder A sculpture of day, in the malleable Quanta of daylight. Blinded, searching for an antidote, An umbrella as black as midnight. The scripture of unmasking…

A Kiss

Retrograde embalms the past Like a wave that tumbled forward Moving backwards, remembering the froth In her path. The velvet svelte Of a tropical sun, the lilac flames on the tip of lips That were extinguished in primal contact An odyssey of elation and sedation A firm grip of what stood on the other shore…