When We Made Love Last Night

When we made love last night
in my dream,
you stood tall
and my words fell short
in your admiration.

There was a hollow
of a schoolroom in May
and you engulfed it
like bees in a hive
rich with honey
which all the wild bears desire.

Your breasts were like
the velvets of Egypt on which
all their traders had their eyes on;
your navel was the well in a barren land
where all the thirsty folks gather.

Your forehead
was the king’s playground
where the knights rode,
clad in shining armour.
Your eyes drowned me
like the Afghani opium –
curing my senses –
senses curing my soul.

Your head –
a casket, adorning the jewel
that is your mind;
your hair, cropped short,
was the night
and your eyes –
the only two stars
shining at opposite poles.

Your shoulders
were the slope
where all the gallant warriors rode –
so steep that they lost control
and fell into a hollow, bottomless pit
that is your armpit,
like the only fountain in the battlefield
where the soldiers drank
from their cupped hands –
lay dying.

Your thighs were the summit of
the snow capped mountains –
never conquered –
never seen –
always covered in brave winds
and the fierce clouds
that stand by you in your
honour.

Your legs were like
only tree
in the dusty playground,
around which children gathered
and played – holding hand in hand –
tiny hands.
Your feet were the golden vase
holding the flower that was your body.

Your smell was the incense
of petrichor in a far-away land
where it never fails to rain
in summer.

Your beauty was the splash of the mermaid’s fin
while the whole sea was calm.

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