Jeevana, while with the fish-seller

In the market square
In an unfamiliar day on an
Hour not usual for either of us,

As I sat with the vendor of
Dried fish, talking politics,
As I turned my head for a moment’s space,

There, you walked by us,
Stopped for a minute, with time enough
Just to say a Hi.

Your eyes met mine, Jeevana,
And in your eyes I saw the need to say more.
Your lips tightened, as if in a hurried kiss,

And what my face betrayed, Jeevana,
I do not know. Then, you reluctantly moved on.
Turned around and moved on, as you had to go.

So, I turned back to the vendor of fish,
And continued on the subject of politics.
But, you woman whose warmth I know, of you I wanted more.

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Jeevana, first caresses

A countless number of chats, many texts,
A few calls and after a meeting over tea,
We are in silent agreement that the day is come,
And we are meeting discreet, unknown to the clergy,
Behind closed doors, on a day of a moderate sun.

Subtly, I pull yourself to me, with a
Deft touch just about your waist,
While you offer no resistance, come pushed my way,
The veins of your throat tightens, and with intense eyes
You look at me unknowing and knowing what to say.

I was drawn to you first by what you said and wrote,
By your drawings and sketches and shares of
Freedom and such. And now, after effort, after making it here,
I know that I need you, to hold and probe you deep
And to hammer you so you crack, you open; and weep.

Closer, and I run my right hand through your top,
Ruffling your waist, my left cupping your bum,
And you breathe in and hold it up, expanding your chest,
Your full breast inside your shirt heave and prop.
You whisper that you’re not sure whether this is just right.

I plant on your chest the first warm lips’ caresses,
And draw you to my body, holding you firm.
Your mouth opens in slight, caught in some strange desire,
Through your top I take my hand up, and grip your nipple tight.
You coo a sharp half note, and whimper soft and slight.

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