a jazzin’ kind of night

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© Anmol Arora

free-handed percussions — nightly detours
into amatory affairs — touch and wiggle —

the ambient smell of stale booze, fresh-smokes
on their breaths, a chandelier dripping with light,
bursting and blooming into the eyes,

sax and guitar, reverberating desires, up and loud —
the head nods that leave no room for improvisation.

the fingers find their way to the sequestered spots,
recognizing the rising heat in the night-time breeze,

my nips attentive to words grazed against my neck
along the sternocleidomastoids (the tumescence and
detumescence palpable in a cloth traveled melody) —

the blues rise in a leaf-like cadence, my heart palpitates
to the response of my thighs (shuttered, caving all within) —

freehanded percussions, nightly detours that settle
all that rises, as the lights expand in a cross-rhythm,
chaotic, high-rising, groping, grabbing, pulling, spilling,

tinkling down my spine.

 

© Anmol Arora 2018

For With Real Toads’ Notebook Poetry: I do not know if my writing is even comprehensible — I do write in my notebook at times but mostly it’s when there is a rush of a particular thought or experience and I have to jot it down — so my pen glides all over the page in its need to capture all of it in a jiffy before it extinguishes to nothing — I have taken my time in penning this one down after typing it primarily with a few non-intrusive edits. Ha! As for the poem, I have used the precise terms for a particular reason which delves into the biological aspect, to distance it from desire or want. Hope it doesn’t hinder the experience.
Also linking it with the Poetry Pantry at PU.

***
I have been working on a new Insta handle for about 2 months now, for literary and creative posts: @anmol.ha.
For contact, you can reach out to me through my multiple profiles, enlisted here.

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Baby… my love for thee…

baby… my love for thee

is a story of the day,

I store my night away,

in a tight cocoon, with barricades,

within which, I play my spades,

 .

baby… my love for thee

is the light of the sun,

shoot me with your love gun,

riding, through the dreams,

taste of freshly whipped cream,

 .

baby… my love for thee

is the dance with the blues,

the sax(on) glittering hues,

a slight convulse of the waist,

music in my numb ears, I taste,

 .

oh baby… my love for thee,

can’t speak… I am so full of glee,

 .

baby… baby… baby…

 .

I am an old soul but the night is young,

sweet-bitter saliva at tongue,

metallic… I see you in darkness,

don’t you go make me digress,

 .

oh babe-ey … it is the woody voice of bass,

this harmony, we cannot pass,

oh babe-ey… the drums beat soothing,

let us join hands and go brooding,

 .

baby… my love for thee

is the string of guitar,

the effervescent music of sitar,

oh babe-ey… piano beckons us,

we talk in language of Damascus,

 .

baby… my love for thee,

poisoned wine dripping from flute,

it may make me go mute,

oh babe-ey… but I will live for you,

and for my love for blues,

.

baby… my love for thee,

can’t speak, I am so full of glee

* I like jazz. This poem is written in consideration of dVerse Meeting the Bar. I don’t know whether I have done justice with it or not but I wrote it, just as it came to me.