Me shorn of the mask as shorn of the threads are you...

Sowmen Mitter

[To AB, my 'anonymous bystander' who'd hardly have an inkling... ]

And no, -
It's not the voyeur only
That leers at you. Someone else -
Someone you've known this long -
The one that you once let you cuddle,
Wary - some other might look at it
Through some other prism;
Uneasy, for it might come across as
Some sort of incest.
Leery that you might give in too much,
Had urged you to linger on?

And you, lain face down
And the nether curled up as if
To invite, incite, ignite the primeval loins,
Kept doodling away and on.

Or may be that was just my reading!
Cos you flowers are always innocent!
And we men -creepy aphids!!

But the cleft, veiled under, hugging the mounds
Lay there, throbbing, anticipating a rush
As even the Niagra would bemoan.

And it lies here still in my cells,
Shorn of the threads,
Oomph oozing out of dense desire,
That heady, musky odour,
And you sighing away ..



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