So, let’s forget our worries darling and
I guess we can smoke blunts while we just hear
a Hendrix cover by The Cure; so, hand
me glasses of rum and let’s drift so near
to a nirvana – Purple Haze, while we
kiss skies, and then cast your spell; weave your web
entrancing, capturing, enchanting me.
No, don’t let this emotion drift or ebb
because I want another rhythm next,
a slow kiss down your spine in Autumn’s dance,
a heated passionate unspoken text
that’s written while you’re in a luring trance,
that I pen down your neck while you bend, arch
your back lost to elation – ardor’s march.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)