Pink Kisses

Your distracted eyes urge me
to kiss you.
A humble approach I make:
urge you without raised eyebrows
to kiss me.

You do not consent;
you do not deny;
deny me this life
but not your lips that are coloured
in pink –
a glossy pink, I wonder –
oh, your lips invite much curiosity.

So I look at you with inviting eyes –
get immersed in your body language –
you do not say a word,
but your heartbeats could write an anthology of poems
that could be preserved in the archives
for civilisations to come.

I thought I could reading body languages quite well,
but the hard rum running in my body from the evening
says otherwise,
so I ask you humbly again:
kiss me, will you?
You do not consent;
you do not deny;
deny me in a cricket match the sixes and the fours,
but not those lips of yours.

You tell me:
I am not ready;
for I haven’t whispered into your pink ears
that you are beautiful;
I have nothing else to say,
neither a different approach to bring forth.

So I seek what I read from you,
and listen to the constant thump of your heartbeats.
I could be wrong.
It is our first time, and I daresay
not the last.


Art by Gustav Klimt


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