Unspoken (To Mr Darcy)

I dread the sound of my voice

To come up with the perfect words to get shot down

By your gold standard. I knew you would not be easy.

Silence can be muted, especially when there

Is a paradigm shift to one response and a bottomless pit for the other.

The daffodil was not done any favors by

Calling it “Narcissus”. Self love can be

The vanguard movement of survival.

Kale was unheard for years back and carrots

Were not orange before the Dutch

Intervened. Still you are thrust into the spotlight;

It is letting the hiking shoes cover the

Uneven floor. I look at you and I am a bard.

The muse strums my skin pinching it

And letting it all go, in a cascade as I feel pain as pleasure.

My tongue lurks like a gangly worm in Paris

On a Tulip patch, to fence another worm

And that too for pleasure. Pleasure

Needs a morsel of risk, like a bicycle needs a chain.

The pedal is stammering out the giddiest moment

And looking at a muse and asking

Her if I can make her fall from her pedestal.

You to me are perfectly unspoken.

The human body has more organs than a band.

The pomp is not in the crashing cymbals

But in those sodden lips. When all the organs

In your supple body is telling you to give in

To the naked thrill, you want so much

To take the soul of her, along with you. One night

Stands are like single use plastics, they are

Slowly retreating to obscurity. Love

Is firmly back, more vogue than vanguard,

More crash than brash, more

Sophisticated than simple. I so far

Have earned my PHD in muted silence, and Simon

And Garfunkel, my distinguished teachers.

Can I tell you that I want to see you beyond

Your bespectacled wonderlands, I wish to

Cup your cheeks – on both sides,

I wish to see your satellites close in comfort,

As you tenderly ricochet off me,

I wish to see your beautiful vanities thaw

To the torch I am and do thrill me whole, not

With a stick of dynamite or a time bomb at

My farthest point, only the barmiest

Most quixotic and daring moment our lips can muster,

I push my lips towards you only to

Be stopped halfway. I try to recoil,

Knowing that you had affirmed me whole in

The most comforting manner possible.

I have dreamt of this moment ever since

I lay my careless eyes on you. I am the desperado,

I am as tragic as a Shakespearian play,

I am the mistral to your heavy breath,

I am seduced by your evergreen possibility.

In this, the finest moment of my existence,

I cannot seem to remember how to open my eyes,

To prolong, to procrastinate your taste,

Until I forget my inabrupt lips,

Impossibly decanted upon yours.

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