March 19, 2022
1 min read

Originally posted on November 9, 2020 @ 5:49 pm

By Sudeep sen

Under the soft translucent linen,
the ridges around your nipples

harden at the thought of my tongue.
 You — lying inverted like the letter ‘c’ —

arch yourself deliberately
wanting the warm press of my lips,

it’s wet to coat the skin
that is bristling, burning,

breaking into sweats of desire —
 sweet juices of imagination.

But in fact, I haven’t even touched
you. At least, not yet.

Source: Poetry Foundation

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