07 May Lips, By Arvind Venkat
Words—they come out—a blazing golden
Showering refulgence upon this night
Out from the winter’s waning crescent—
An altering air of mystery.
In pebbled syllables—tossing and rippling,
Trembling and flirting—
And constantly vibrating
Upon this heart they merrily flow.
Freshly coated—some pink upon pink
Jewelry—or a painting itself
Resting upon the innocent face
A portal to the heart.
Of frozen flesh—turgid and whole
Much like a fruit—a raisin —
Sweetly stirring the wine pubescent
And begging me to explore;
Then creasing out at O’s—utterances wide
Scissoring away kept memories.
I wonder of what more—but this
If any, can a wonder be.