Poetry

Naked Butterfly by Miss Kanishka

Eternally, morning is the starter,
Noon’s the course, Night’s the dessert…
Perhaps they’re bonded afar,
It shall be the first touch to colour the art!

Dark room and shattered gaze,
Ardent languor pouring down his face…
He summoned her lascivious self;
Placing the cushion on the mirror shelf,
Slowly Inclining her backwards
He lingered on her dress…

With the slip of his fingers
And zest in his eyes,
Her belly sob in love
With her naked butterflies…
Unwrapping his chest, she glides her sight,
Loosing his belt, he grabbed her thighs…

Crescent moon rolled inside,
Leaning on the bed, he wiggled off his tie…
Darkened room lit with flaming desire,
Feverish tongue fueling the fire!

His limbs so erratic
And drown quiet ecstatic;
Sliding under the sheet, unbuttoning,
Impaled— his thirst bruising her clit,
Then, aroused the aroma of chocolate…

Pulling her closer he fills his lips with her’s;
Surfing each other; cupping the shores;
Trying to cover; writing the wordless poem,
Sleep overtook their flow…

Delicious appetiser of pun;
the evocative satisfaction,
And then the butterfly was done…
Ready to cherish the lane of this flower,
She again went far…

Delicate curtains heard them moan;
She remembers he murmured,
Half asleep, “I love you”,
When she walked away with the lifting sun…


Follow Kanishka on Instagram at @untitled_ruin.

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