Conversations are still left between you and me, stories are still hanging by the thread, to be plucked off the trees.
Trees under which we lie hand in hand, listening to what has never been uttered, saying what always begged to be said.
I pick moments from your lips, and paint my days with them, I pick stars from the sky and decorate your darkness with them.
I repeat my words in your ears, as you shift aside the food lying on the table.
It's about time you ate my poems and anecdotes, it's about time I drank the mysteries kept hidden in your kohl smeared eyes.
I play with your fingers, writing codes on your wrists, can you read what I wrote, can you feel the kisses am yet to plant all over body. Can you guess the patterns my fingertips will draw on your back, and can you feel the warmth of my breath on your breasts.
The conversations are continuing you see, just that the words are replaced with a silence smeared with ecstacy, and I push you against the walls.
Can you hear the walls whisper l tales of love we once made, as I make love to you in this moment. It's a tale beyond ages, as I turn your pages, ruffle your leaves, I roll up my sleeves and you laugh. You take off my shirt instead, and starting reciting your rhymes.
Wind chimes, they keep playing the tunes , as we move in unison, matching our rhythms with ones that created this world.
Just like the world we create, through our conversations, where I listen to each of your silences.
#thebigbangtrip
Do experience it if you can
Meet instigators
Discover yourself
Inspire others
Share stories :)
No comments:
Post a Comment