your presence pollinates verses in my mouth.
i gave her a book of mine wrapped in the colours of her dupatta that kissed me numerous times when i used to follow her steps on the shore of an ocean i built out of my dreams. she smiled as if i dived into the ocean to draw her a pearl. i felt the excitement of poems while she held the other end of the book. the moon knocked on her door to remind her that she promised to read my book under his light. the moon sat on the window, and her long hair coloured the white pillow into a night. the moon started mimicking her shadow to feed me with the happenings. her fingers clutch the edge of my book to open it. i never saw my poem being this shy, as if she is undressing them in the presence of the moon. the black letter turned red with her fingers swirling through my cursive. with every stanza, her heart started orchestrating the phenomenon where she realised it's the poet who she is falling for, not the poem. when my poems saw her eyelids getting heavier with the weight of my dreams hanging on the edge of her eyebrows. they served her with a stanza dressed as a lullaby. she snuggled my poems closer to her chest, where my creations sneaked into her white blouse to bathe her in the scent of their master's pool of inspiration. they moulded themselves into a crew of archaeologists & started digging around for moles & scars & stretch marks. the fertile skin of her, the petrichor of her sweat around the edges of her neck, the mangroves between her thighs, the garden of tulips under her nose, the warm oceanic currents of her breath, the convection of magma beneath her bosoms, the dunes of her back, the mound of her firm rear, the mystical land of her eyes, the dyke formed on her collarbones—everything that they could've recorded in one night was done to the utmost precision by my poems. the next morning, on the very shore, she handed me that book with a rose in between. in the land of poets, a rose between the books is equivalent to marriage.to all the readers who reached here,to the all the poets who travelled across the oceans, you are invited to the wedding.
--apollo--
