Passion. Poems

Kindred Spirits

*Kindred Spirits*

 I am often labeled as possessing "special" needs, and while there lies a kernel of truth within that phrase, the needs which burn brightest in my core are no different than yours, dear friend. Just as you crave acceptance, I ache for it too; a longing that colors every sunrise and sunset I

With a Gentle Hand

Ignored wounds
do not bleed at once,
but when touched for cure
they ache longer than they should,
reminding us how silence gathers dust
inside the body.

It is not that love is feared,
only that sometimes
its arrival feels unnecessary
like an extra flame
in a room already warm.

Still, a newborn’s breath
teaches another language of affection,
a fragile trust resting
in the hollow of two palms.

Love

Emotional Buffet 2

I sat apart from life, too weary to live,
Even the breath I owed, I refused to give.

The curse of the world is rightful on me,
I thinned the trees, not the flowers to be.

In the end, the mind grows tired of love’s flame,
I made a firefly my partner in name.

Whatever the cause, it stands as a

Letters Lift Me

Letters lift me 
When my world drowns
Hearing smiles in her voice
I know love exists

Cherish every minute
Days, weeks, hours
Counting as she sleeps
Waiting for her to wake

Breathing small hours
As our paths align
Brushing through our destiny
Drinking outrageous fortune

Our cores braided 
Bodies untouched
Searing blood in our veins
Heavenly tides of emotions

Transparent hearts
Hewn of fire and glass
Fusing with critical mass
An indivisible

the cedar tree

bright …

a flash of light -
thunder clapped like cannons as
into the old tree
we scurried ...
the mouth of its little
hollowed-out gut, yawning like some
tired old man from a Dickens story ...
perhaps the chin of the
ghost of Jacob Marley, let loose in
horrid fashion from its jaw-
binding bandages ...

       ~ then found

something new

oh, how perfectly you drape
        swaths of moonlite on your shape
            now you've chosen its soft blue
    for this night of something ... new

you've decided we're too single
      

fallen down

my angel, fallen ...

            gossamer linen, violet lace
                window-dressing body, pressing
                 goddess of

Midnight Sun

Last night we danced in sweet romance,
we burned like the midnight sun.
Your wanton kiss was utter bliss,
our hearts fused, then beat as one.

By candle-light I held you tight,
lust played our favorite song.
Our bodies moved, sizzled and grooved,
seduction's magic so strong.

Our two minds raced as my lips traced
the smooth contours of your skin.
Fingers kneaded as eyes

The Perfume Bottle

Glass vial brimming
with distilled desire waiting
to be vaporized
on warm skin to fire the want
with scent of blooming flowers

Hollow taint remains
a genie swirls from the rub
whiff evaporates
hope lingers in the remnants
of what the genie scent sang

Monsoon passion when spells

Sky when with dense clouds abound,
Seeing which peacocks dance around
On tender-green-dress-bedecked a hill,
In such a stirring scene, love-bound,  
Which wayfarer wistful would not feel?
_____________________________    
Translation (Quintain) | 34.08.2025 | monsoon, Nature, passion, peacock, nostalgia

Note: Here is a verse (in Arya meter) from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance).

Blue Moon

I can hear the wolves howling. 
A blue moon sky tonight, 
movement, motion, magical, 
we're synchronized just right. 

Her silhouette's smoldering 
behind translucent screens. 
Perfect, pleasing, pandering, 
my fantasy, her scene. 

Incense burning, candles aglow, 
a breeze blows her to me, 
luscious, lacy, lingering, 
the only thing I see. 

She touches without touching, 
spectator on

Our Union Is On Quaky Ground

Our relationship is on shaky ground
We don't kiss each other like before
We don't say hello and goodbye anymore
We give each other the runaround
For the grace of God
We need to sit down to talk things over
We need the help of the Lord
Countless serious promises were made
That we must keep, cherish and honor
We must always sleep in

Fragments

I said I couldn’t write 
for I am an empty pen,
my ink wasted
on letters no one will read.
Torn, crumpled,
fed to the black hole
of a trash can.

Now I write of silence
Etching words into wood
For I have broken my vow with the papers
It isn’t determination,
nor delusion
just a moment,
a fragment that insists on staying.

And still, I write
not with

Love and Becoming

Nanaya: 
“Self love - bereft of sin, beseeching and riveting in my spirit, jumps over me in the power of expression. Each twirl of my spirits dance radiates an effervescent power directed at my overcoming. What do I overcome? Suffering my youth, my age, my indiscriminate desire to give up. Yet, there is life in

Time's Charade

The maple trees red tinge sounds the alarm
Begins a blushing curtsy, bowing slow
For Autumn’s but a fleeting warmth’s farewell
The heat of passions peak prepared to go

Weep not as lover’s petals slowly fall
For lust was never meant to linger long
Nor lingering somehow sustain the bees
Or from a frozen beak coax loving’s song

Yet in their passing beauty

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