Goosebumps…

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Reading unvoiced
tremor of nervousness,
as Braille under
caressing fingertips,
he recited in stilted sighs
a sonnet of desire scribed
on her skin in moonlit silence
drunk on love’s chardonnay.

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Ignorance~ An Array of Vignettes

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The innocent cherry blossoms,
tinted in candyfloss sighs
wither in ignorance,
unaware of the reason
they pepper the brow
of nascent dawn, emerging
from their chrysalis.

Oblivious is the moth
dancing in frenzied ecstasy
around the mistakenly revered
threshold of jaundiced streetlight,
of the cause of its demise
enthralled by the radiance
of a callous, indifferent moon
flirting with exotic oysters
amid cavorting tides.

The caterpillar
leads a chameleon existence
of metamorphosis,
unaware of its quaint sojourn
from the worm-like simplicity
within secretive translucence
to a variegated butterfly
blessed with nectarine sips
of sustenance in redolent meads.

The self-proclaimed
human omniscience fails to learn
the destiny hidden
within the depths of tomorrows
unraveled by the clock’s hands,
as he leads each day
assuming himself to the master
of his own treacherous fate.

Winter Moon

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She sits forlorn,
wrinkled and wizened
on frostbitten grayish clouds
under the veil of mist,
determined to keep vigil
in December chill
warmed by distant embers
of shining galaxies.

She drinks from
that half- filled cup of coffee
left lukewarm on
the window sill,
breathing in the lingering scent
of roasted peanuts
and the luscious chocolate cake
you’d gobbled away
in gluttonous delight.

She is like honeydew,
or a tangy round slice of lemon
her breath scented in
scent of myrtle and pine needles,
she resembles to
to a shivering hungry beggar
a round golden bun,
to a crying child she appears
to be his favorite crunchy cookie.

She hums x-mas hymns
in the silence of falling snowflakes,
whispering fables from
dogeared volumes of Aesop
befriending insomniac asters
chilled by the winter frost,
her smile is reminiscent
of daffodils from bowers of March,
she scribbles her dreams
writing epistles in the fragrance
of blooming night jasmine.

Poetry is Born…

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as a sighed bubble
of prismatic syllables,
floating in
firefly strewn sunshine,
bursting within
the grasp of moments
to splatter dewdrops
of transience
on the face of noon~

poetry is born
to momentarily adorn
straits of the commonplace.

when a jaundiced thought,
wizened by reverie
speckled in variegated shades
of sentiments,
withers from
boughs of contemplation,
to scribe in dialect
scented and dulcet,
on the extensive papyrus
of nature~

poetry evolves,
a cinnamon epistle
audible in the whispers
of nutmeg fall,
the silent vigil
of topaz moon of harvest.