That morning young rose was flirting with new sun, under the window of your bedroom, swaying in morning breeze, showing off its supple body to entice, coy, and yet confident. Sun, radiant with novel passion, slowly embraced the rose in its warmth and was about to plant a kiss on its tender petal lips, to drink the drops of dew on them ...when you came on to the window....
You, slowly pulling the curtains and then pushing the pans, yawning with half opened eyes; loose dark flaxen tresses floating in the wind, that had rushed in to soak in your fragrance, strands wrapping around your face with playful naughtiness, and some, probably the most passionate of them, kissing your moist lips with a haughty passion; you pushing them aside with a tender rebuke, and they coming back again, and again, as if only source of nourishing life they knew (like infant knows only mother’s breast) was tender essence of your pink lips.
After opening the window you stood there resting against the wall. Your sleeveless white top filled by trespassing air endowed you even more, silk of your night shorts completely merging in the silk of your dusky skin, startled the looker with a amazing vision, till, somehow, the relative roughness of its texture gave it away against the dusky smoothness of your lissom smoky thighs. As you opened the window the fragrance of your pristine youth seeped in to garden like laughter of a baby filling the air, and it soothed the morning even more; the round smoothness of your bare arms, the chiselled sharp drop of your nose, the intoxicating drowsiness of your still sleepy eyes, the simmer of heat-of-life on you lips, gentle heaving of your chest, and, oh! that sharp curve between your hips and back when resting against the wall.....Sun was mesmerised.
Having seen a billion mornings, sun for the first time was seized with this intense desire- not to melt this drop of dew he had just seen oozing on the window.....not to drink it, but to just watch it. Sun left the rose alone, and most tenderly built a protective aura around you. You, still standing on the window, in that endless morning of my imagination, and sun merging and radiating in and from you in an unprecedented softness...
That morning rose learned to envy....
-Pulastya
You, slowly pulling the curtains and then pushing the pans, yawning with half opened eyes; loose dark flaxen tresses floating in the wind, that had rushed in to soak in your fragrance, strands wrapping around your face with playful naughtiness, and some, probably the most passionate of them, kissing your moist lips with a haughty passion; you pushing them aside with a tender rebuke, and they coming back again, and again, as if only source of nourishing life they knew (like infant knows only mother’s breast) was tender essence of your pink lips.
After opening the window you stood there resting against the wall. Your sleeveless white top filled by trespassing air endowed you even more, silk of your night shorts completely merging in the silk of your dusky skin, startled the looker with a amazing vision, till, somehow, the relative roughness of its texture gave it away against the dusky smoothness of your lissom smoky thighs. As you opened the window the fragrance of your pristine youth seeped in to garden like laughter of a baby filling the air, and it soothed the morning even more; the round smoothness of your bare arms, the chiselled sharp drop of your nose, the intoxicating drowsiness of your still sleepy eyes, the simmer of heat-of-life on you lips, gentle heaving of your chest, and, oh! that sharp curve between your hips and back when resting against the wall.....Sun was mesmerised.
Having seen a billion mornings, sun for the first time was seized with this intense desire- not to melt this drop of dew he had just seen oozing on the window.....not to drink it, but to just watch it. Sun left the rose alone, and most tenderly built a protective aura around you. You, still standing on the window, in that endless morning of my imagination, and sun merging and radiating in and from you in an unprecedented softness...
That morning rose learned to envy....
-Pulastya
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