Lust on Steroids

I claw at your back

As if carving scripture,

Each line a verse,

Each gasp a hymn.

Your breath floods

The hollows of my ear,

Hot, trembling,

Breaking my reason-

My head gallops 

Ahead of itself

And tries to bury me

In all your burrows in 

Search of the sweet

Sound of your moan.

I sense the sweat 

Of your armpit on

My fingers.

The meat of my

Manhood seeks a 

Refuge in your 

Feminine abode.

In the clash of sweat,

In the bite of skin,

We lose our names-

Man, woman, sinner, saint.

And when silence breaks,

It isn’t peace-

It’s the aftertaste

Of fire still smouldering

Between our hearts.

While feel you strongly 

Between my thighs.

May our love be lust

On steroids tonight.

Gasping act

I'll pin you to the wall 

and armourously 

Kiss your back.

l'll undo your saree in 

Haste and unbutton 

The blouse with 

My mouth.

I'll devour your lips and

Drown in your eyes.

Dive in your bosom and 

Be lost in your bottoms.

I'll savour you, 

Taste you and make you 

Mumble hymns of

Basic biology so deep...

You'll weave poetry

with your gasps and

Tune it with your moans.

Saree

Stand stout. Don’t laugh.  

You’ve to believe me  

When I say I can dress  

You up in a saree.  

Extend your hands.

Let me put on the  

Blouse first.  

It might take an unusually  

Long time—  

Well, it does,  

To intimately button  

All of my promises  

Into your bosom.  

The pleating can be  

Tricky, but when I adorn  

Each fold with our  

Dreams and fantasies—  

Pulling you closer to  

Tuck the pleats into  

The skirt, like it’s my  

Compulsive fetish—

Don’t be surprised if  

I kiss your nabhi, or  

Inappropriately explore  

The mysteries  

That region could offer.

Wait patiently.  

And when I throw the  

Pallu over the other side,  

Pinning it on your right  

Shoulder like I’ve been  

Into this job for over 

Hundreds of years—  

I might take a couple  

Of steps back to  

Adore your beauty  

In its entirety.  

And that’s when you  

Should slip away,  

While there’s time.  

If I make an excuse,  

Saying there’s  

Something missing—  

It’s alright if I put  

A bindi, or just gently  

Kiss your forehead.  

But if I take my  

Intentions to your  

Sassy lips—  

Know that  

My edgy temptations  

Have kicked in,  

And thereafter,

You can’t escape the

Clutches of my 

Sweet sins.

Intimate Peace Out

You keep your eyes

Set on me, and you

Look deeply- teasing 

Me for still having my

Clothes on.

The curve of your 

Wicked smile,

Already has the spoils

Of my persona-

Like I'm ready for a

War.

Well, I am.

Our fingers entangle

Searching for the 

Warmth our tongues

Battle for. 

And the legs spread

Aligning and realigning 

Repeatedly-

To transcend the barrier 

Of our skins.

We hurl at each other 

Our evil intentions 

Like soldiers on

Opposing teams-

Only to be humbled by 

Our panting breaths.

And our rush ceases 

Into a realisation that

We're just two refugees,

Seeking home in 

Each other--

So we peace out 

Into a submission of 

Feeble touches and

Happily sleep.

Telepathy

We lie under the fan 

Rubbing our warmth 

Onto each other.

You ask me to say

Something.

I run out of words.

You run your fingers 

On my chest.

I try to read the

Patterns you make-

I try to translate it

On your back in a

Language you don't 

Understand.

We both fantastically 

Fail at it.

But it's fun.

Language seems to be

A a scam in bedroom.

Maybe be it should 

Be banned.

I know telepathy 

Doesn't exist-

But the way our skins

Talk without words-

Two thermodynamic 

Systems suspended 

From outside affairs-

We try to dive into 

Each other, deeper 

Each time and 

The exploration is 

Never enough.

Gloating Satisfaction

You're the breeze teasing 

With my hair.

Moist feeling playing 

Around my eyelids.

Love is a sensual feeling 

And I feel you on my skin.

My eyes bulge, fingers

Quiver. Mind turns hazy

And I feel my veins bulge 

At your instance.

My imagination runs wild.

There's sweat and mix

Of our drool. Battle of

Breaths and violations 

With our lips-

Love in it purest sense

Seems to be just transfer 

Of bodily heat and fluids.

It's as physical as it gets.

When these fingers 

Explore the undulations

Of your flesh. Gloating 

With divine satisfaction-

Hints of my platonic 

Passion on your neck.

If we aren't ashamed 

Of our sweet sins 

The next morning-

Consider we put love's 

Unconditionality to 

Shame.

Warmth

Kiss me in heaven or

Hell. Or just here.

Does it matter?

The realms we enter 

When we let our

Tongues battle-

Asgard to Pataal Lok-

The wormholes we 

Enter while we explore 

The warmth of our bodies-

The touch of your 

Skin. Fire of your eyes.

Calm in your bosom-

Our souls must be 

Jealous of all the carnal

Pleasures they're 

Deprived of-

Maybe they've tried to 

Sneak out at night for 

Makeout but returned to 

The abode of skin after

Failing to play with the 

Sorcery of bodily warmth.

The Gods must have

Felt the same at some 

Point of time.

Bastards turned to 

Voyeurism that's why. 

And called it Omni-presence 

Later on.

PDA

The first time you

Slipped your hand in

My pants in the garden.

The first time we

Made it out in the bus.

The way our fingers 

Quivered and lips

Craved it all in public 

Places-

High on dirty stuff.

High on naughty things 

In really inappropriate 

Places-

The first time we 

Had that unusually 

Long kiss at a remote 

Bus stop in Pune 

At night-

The police caught us

And booked us under 

PDA and fined us a

Good 20k.

The whole thing was

Embarrassing.

But what petty thing 

Is embarassment?

What a petty amount 

Is that money?

In comparison to

The rush of fluids

Of each other's body.

A soul-satisfying 

Guilt of a feeling?

What sanity is this

World preaching?

What purity? 

And what clarity?

If the cloudy haze of

Sensuality hasn't 

Dictated you its evil

Intentions...yet.

What good is love?

And what good is life?

What good was our

Banishment from the

Garden of Eden-

If we didn't fall prey 

To the urges of our 

Primal sins?

Sakti

You gotta look her 

In the eyes.

Measure the depths

In metaphors and

Throw them at 

The sky.

You gotta look at her

Lips and feel her

In between the teeth.

To come up with a

New flavour of tea

That quenches

Intentions.

Look at the bosom

And thighs. 

Her hips that want

To laugh out loud.

And waist that can 

Fit in your palm.

You can engage 

Or disengage at

Any moment but

Cannot leave this

Room.

You may or may

Not touch her

Appropriately or

Inappropriately.

But no half-hearted 

Efforts allowed.

The only thing you

Gotta remember-

This is just a game 

And the challenge is

Not to fall in love.

If you do, your

Balls would be cut.

And if she does.

Well-

Craving

Conquer my bare body

And thrust your fingers
In my mind.

Play with the thoughts
Of mine and teach the
Art of passionate desire.

Wound me in the right
Places and hurt me
Like I want it more.

Treat me badly and
Make me beg- I always
Wanted to be your slave.

Sell me to your dirtiest
Fantasies at a lowest bid.
Lemme experience-

The drains of your
Sweet sins. Hope they're
Full and flowing to

Readily drown me in.

Unwanted Closure

The angel you are.
The obsession you've
Become.
My attempts to quench
This longing-
I've brutally scratched
Myself to bleed.

And every time I do that,
You plant your red flowers
In my wounds.
Desire is a cocoon and
I've happily become
Your prisoner.

Pour the wine of your
Eyes. Trap me in
Incantations of thighs.
Punish me. Make me
Scream your name.
Gag me, choke me-
Beat me up.

Dig into me and soak
Me up in your lust-
Love is overrated anyway.
Haunt me like passion
Project gone wrong.

Put your fingers deep
Into my mind.
Touch my thoughts
Inappropriately.
Infect the dark corners
And hydrate the
Empty ones.

And deep in there,
If you can find a child-
Hug him up and don't
Let him cry.
Pour more whiskey
On him and make him
Talk-

And If it is about love-
If it is still about love!
Slap him hard.

Give him unresolved
Yearning instead.
He doesn't know it
But he needs an
Unattainable wanting.

Forbidden fruit

It took lots of attempts.
Lots of coxing and
Cajoling. Flirty texts,
Superlative poems.

Treating you like a baby
When you turned
Vulnerable and
Cunningly slip in a
Sarcastic comment
That almost hid my
Intentions.

I'm no saint, you see.
I needn't be but
I'm a bit self-reflective-
My feeble vices,
Wild desires and longing
To commit sweet sins-

While I improvise to
Learn, re-learn, and
Cook you up on low
Flame for long-
Pampering you was a
Culinary affair.

And for the first time
We breathed close-
As the strands of your
Hair brushed my cheeks.
The lips quivered
And tongues battled..

You almost let me touch
Your bosom.
But it felt so wrong
Somehow.
I kept overthinking about
The boundary I should
Have crossed.

But when the next time
It happened-
Like my hands acting
On their own-
It was so good.
Heavenly.

The beauty of this
Evolutionary compulsion-
Seems in the Garden
Of Eden, God was not
Angry about that one
Forbidden fruit.
But of two.

Premature Intimacy

The desire in the mouth
Dripping to lips-
Almost undressing you
With my eyes.
My gaze would always
Try to devour you
Like you're a feast.

I read you page by page.
Touch every word with
Fingers to taste your
Meaning on my tongue-
You're a book of riddles
And how I wanna be an
Egyptian cryptic.

The bombarding wild
Thoughts in my head.
Getting shaped and
Reshaped- smeared
With wet passion-

I would leave no
Opportunity to thicken
The air between us
With my wit-
Love the way you look
When you try to hide
A blush.

This compulsion of mine
To intoxicate myself on
Each of your breaths-
You're almost a landmine
I wanna accidentally trip.

But I know you want me
Walk away at the right
Amount of heat-

I see you explode alone
From the sidelines and
Ohh! How hard it is to
Contain myself from
My own ruins.

Stink

You meet someone online.

Talk for days, fall in love.

Discuss dirty stuff and

Get naked on screen.

You fight, you argue 

You figure it out and fall

In love more fiercely to

Shag each other on video 

For months.

You then fall apart. Breakup. 

You just close the screen 

And there's an eternal divide.

Moving on seems easy-

But it gets to you.

Heart is heart, and you get

Frozen in a period of time.

You miss her eternally.

Her face, her eyes.

Hair, skin, bare bust 

And the way she touched 

Her crotch-

You imagine the way she

Would have touched you.

But how can you?

Touch is what you're

Most deprived.

This two-dimensional love..

The deprivation it came with.

It haunts you.

You shag yourself in

Her memory for years.

Her face fades. Letter by

Letter her name fades.

And one day it hits you.

She remains only in what

You can smell.

She's fused in the smell of 

Your semen with a hint of 

Urine.

What else could have 

Filled the vacuum?

Maybe that's the smell

Of all the hopeless romance.

Maybe it isn't.

Maybe it would have been 

Different if you had

Held her hand once.

Maybe be this is loneliness. 

Maybe that's how a 

Break up stinks.

Maybe that's how a

A touch-deprived story is

Supposed to end.

Maybe that's how 

Best of memories smell.

Maybe you never know.

Maybe that's why you

Take things in hand 

And do it again.

And maybe... that's why 

Everything goes on 

Smelling the same.

Last Day

On the last day.

We unwillingly kissed.

Got naked and 

Entered the shower.

We rinsed each other.

Made love like we're 

Hosting a funeral in 

Ourselves.

The hollow cascade of 

Longing..

The smoke out of

Embers that were dying.

We couldn't look in

The eyes could we?

This repulsion for 

Each other. The sparks

That don't invoke 

Emotions now..

The unloving that feels 

On the skin and under it..

Rather, I feel nothing.

There's something missing.

I say whoever pits love

Against carnal sensations 

Is wrong. Whoever 

Preaches purity is wrong.

It's all messy and dirty.

Imperfect and wild.

And if you don't feel her 

On your skin..

It's not love.

If the blood doesn't rush 

To your head at her 

Instance and if the veins 

Don't bulge...and if you 

Don't get a mild erection 

Whenever she crosses

Your mind..

It's not love. At least,

It's not enough love.

Sit Straight Doll

I'll write you a poem doll,

Sit straight.

When I compare your nose

To the beak of a parrot

And those lips to the juicy

Slices of orange, don't laugh.

That's how poems were

Written back then.

I'll compare your neck to

The lake I once visited

In the Himalayas and those 

Slender hands to the soft embrace 

Of clouds that shower grace.

Eyes can't be left out right?

They of course are oceans

As the cliches go. But do I

Wanna drown and die there? 

You decide, if you wanna

Kill me or just intoxicate.

The cheeks are cotton candy,

Feet invoke a fetish that

Gets to my head.

The boobies and butts are

Why I write poems and 

The way you smile when

I say that, let's finish this off 

And have a quick one.

And from your forehead

Our romance starts,

Hiking through the mountains,

And valleys, it's hard labor.

With a sigh of relief at your

Belly button before entering

The cave that's portrayed

In our movies as Snake and 

Eagle.

Ohh, sorry for the digression.

I forgot about the poem.

Sit straight again now, doll.

Should I begin from where 

I left or you want this all over 

Again?

Dark Places

Let's spread some sheets
And pillows near the window
And lie there with our legs upon
The windows sills.

Fiddling with our toes and feet
We'll make a list of all the dark
Places we shall make love.

Maybe in the alley in the city
Of Gotham where Batman's
Parents died and between
The pages of Rorschach's journal
From where nothing good
Comes back.

Sometimes amidst the spoils
Of Rome and the dread of
Irish Famine and Black Fridays
Of each nation.

Maybe one elaborate session
In a dystopian Nazi Germany
Where all the bigoted history
Would be stacked.

I'll undress you in the section
Related to the First World War
And grope you against
The Treaty of Versailles that
That didn't materialize.

And in the section where
The tone for the Second World War
Wouldn't have set- we'll let our lust
Chronologically mock the tragic
History that followed.

And elsewhere, when we
Amorously makeout.
Maybe in the caves of ancient
Scandinavia where all
The witches were burnt for their
Vile incantations on the kids.

I'll ask if you can you can
Scare me with your hungry cat.
Maybe you can say Abracadabra
To feed me to its delight.

Heels

The pink sandals 

With heels-

Every time I run down

The stairs.

There's something about

The pair.

The beauty, the curiosity,

The sheer deception

As they neatly sit there

Intimidating me.

After weeks of familiarity.

The imagery, takes shape

Of a fetishized face.

A fantasy around them 

Grows a pair.

Then the fancy meets,

The reality one day when,

My landlord's girl,

Opened the gate.

Ahh! The disappointment.

Never meet your idols

They say. The reality of a

Fantasy is often a 

Disgrace.

Intellectual Orgasam

As you unveil the face of

Another poem to me.

The warmth of opening lines, 

Hit me where they have to.

Your well-thought words

And metaphors, falling

In sync with my already,

Fired up dopamine.

As I'm through the

Third paragraph,

A sensuous little prick,

In my poetic mind and 

Frankly in all good intentions,

It's a little turn-on.

The symbolism, 

Evoking the memory of

Your beguiling smile.

The penta-tones,

Picturing your stout 

Bust and bosom..

While fondling with 

The softness of the philosophy,

The way it gets to the end.

It boggles me-

It boggles me but pardon

My language when I say-

How I want to fuck you,

From the back,

In that last paragraph.

Withering Fantasies

My focus goes 

On the eyes first.

Sharp nose next. 

Chubby cheeks, 

Juicy lips,

Waist that brings 

Out the bust. 

Breasts square root 

Of her butts. 

Unbuttoning, 

Her elegance in

A red dress, to

Eat away the

Desire hidden 

In her chest. 

She has been

Far away from

So long. Ahh! 

Disappointment 

Gets me each time

In the guts. 

Cacophony of

This rush. 

How to contain 

Four inches of 

This lust? 

Simply jerking 

Myself off, to

These withering

Fantasies isn't 

Just.