I do not love you
Like the way those teenagers do.
I love the fall of your velvet skirt
I love the waves
I love the crests
I love how you look at me
With that new burgundy gloss
Pouting
Waiting.
I cannot love you
Like teenagers do.
Come Let us slice into each other With fine surgical precision You slash me here I slash you there And then When the storm is done I will patch you up And you tuck me up You bring the bucket I the mop the blood And together we will cleanse Our ancient hurts Our guilts And our fears Until we start again And over a cup of coffee You tell me My dear Just how much you love me And I shall tell you Just how much I love you.
Wow! ...wonderfully adult without implications that being adult means sinking into illicit, pornographic poetic images... There is a place for in-your-face rawness in poetry, and rawness shouldn't be forbidden; but your wonderful string of ordinary words into a beautiful poetic structure is just right. Thanks, Rajesh.
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