Saturday, September 14, 2013
Qnar ....( for k.h.)
ՔՆԱՐ
Her ashough caresses her curves;
marmoreal surface limp in prone latitude
of a more laconic repose. Silent, waiting to sough
and sing, to his touch; peregrinating fingers,
probe and tease her supine, slender arms,
stretched heavenwards as if in supplication.
Eventually his digits will run through her taut strings
deftly, as if an aashiq gently his paramours unravelled
tresses coils - and uncoils, around the assiduous inches
of his nail, and bare-sweating skin.
Troubadour - and his exquisitely crafted lyre,
bewitching when quiescent, enchanting when stirred,
resonating with the tuning-forked vibration
which is still primordial to each universe....
and,
her curves, her caresses, her minstrel-love!
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]
