Jayesh Goyal

11 December - Mumbai

She, the Poetry

She is whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing.
Even thousands of orchids can’t compare to her beauty, she is uniquely rapturous
Look at the beauty in her eyes, eyes like demons dancing in ecstasy
Her fragrance is like poison ivy, perfume of fatal attraction as she flaunts her silky oxters
Her smile makes angels weep out of jealousy, her laughter delights the intoxicated butterflies
For she's the comeliest of all flowers, no wonder butterflies of desire dance around her
A puzzled flower that moves so gracefully, the whispers of my storms sway her curves so seductively
She is like a chef-d'oeuvre of fine art, a mystical fusion of Kama and Rati
For her beauty, amazing, like molten gold, speaking to me in the language of wild raindrops
Her carefree voice is like an irresistible serenity that seem to murmur - show me the fire so we both could play
I dreamed she bewitched me into her cradle, sung me moon-struck, and kissed me quite insanely
A incoherent breeze sweeps through her neckline, wiping out the wet traces of my rogue tongue – en-wrapped arms guiding me to her suffocating fantasies
Her gorgeous toes leave their mark, whispering loudly - follow me
For this poem is my creation, or maybe not, for she is a seductive poetry by herself
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