Love 7

We are filling out time
As we become space-degreed,
A pressed navigation button
Taking you from lesser to greater,
When you finally look,
At your beautiful convenient apartment
In the middle of Colombo,
When you start to realize, that in climbing the slope
That determines success or failure,
You’ve become a success, to millions of eyes that gaze
At you with awe and still you see the
Word “failure” written on
Your half-complete autobiography
Which like a mirror, surfaces
Dark circles around your supposed halo
And the truth is, like a feeble bone,
That will break into two, to the tiniest thrush
Of your mental forces. You are only
An imposter to most people,
A happy-monger, whose heart is just
A scrapyard of used fittings.
Which were at one point long ago,
Your most-primal interfaces.


Flaming Love

Love making

Can I know where to look inside of you,
To know that everything you stand for,
Prostrates me to your heart,
To know, what I don’t know,
To feel, what I haven’t felt,
To spawn, what two singularities can,
When they move towards
An interface, and letting your hair
Down and your eyes look up,
As you gaze at me, not knowing
That your eyes are imploring
And your cleavage invites
To move an inch towards contact,
When you unfurl like a leaflet
And I settle like a butterfly
And our world becomes transparent
Like we are inside a water bubble,
When our chemistries are covalent
And physics tells us we are North-to-South
Until there is only the residue,
Of looking outside at the full moon
And wondering how it all pales
To our flamed kerosene-afterglow.