Tag: Poetry

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TEASING

Suggestive phrases
twirl inside my mind
and you wonder,
if anything I write is about you.
Would you like to know the truth?
My mouth spits out
flirtatious words
at those sensitive moments,
when your eyes melt into tears,
and I have to stop myself
from wanting to wipe them
with my lips,
because the taste of your sadness
is the one
I survive on.
Paper-thin clothes
hide the intrigue
that we are both longing after,
and every time
my curves change the shape of the fabric,
your thoughts start dancing a quickstep
of adult-rated visions.
We both smirk at each other,
knowing,
that one day
it might become
a questionable reality.

– Chatty Owl –

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THE PAST

You told me,
that my hands are always cold.
Especially my fingertips.
I blamed it on the weather
and
the foggy air of moody London,
but we both knew,
this is just how I am.

Icy.

You tried
to cunningly defrost my soul
and make my thoughts
all thawed and leaking water,
but
all it did,
was built defences higher
and suddenly
all doors got shut.

A heavy weight of a padlock.

You questioned everything
that popped into your head –
sincerity of my moving lips,
the truthfulness in my eyes,
the husky voice
and my motives.

True or false.

I played with strands of my hair,
to compliment
my misleading nervous answers,
while your orders
got more strict by a second,
creating waves of insecurity.
We played a game,
all back and forth,
tossing each others hearts
into the air.

Sky-high.

In the end,
there were only words left to play with,
so this is why I write.
Like this.

– Chatty Owl –

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MOMENTUM

You are nothing
but a vague distraction
from all my lazy coffee drinking,
foggy afternoons
and
busy thoughts,
that
I am trying to ignore.
You are
a mere and utter entertainment,
for when my eyes are bored
to read the words
of someone famous.
I turn to you.
All foreign sayings
lead in one direction –
chase.
We’re like a pair of fluffy kittens,
fiddling with the ball.
Or balls.
Or other body parts of such.
You run,
I wait.
I run,
you catch.
I stand,
you wait.
For more attention.
Never-ending cycle.
Easy, right?
We change momentum,
time to time,
but all it changes
is our lust,
which is, ironically,
just disappearing faster.

– Chatty Owl –

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A PLACE UNDER A MOON

Can’t.
You just can’t
see my green eyes,
when I close them
in that moment of
you pleasuring me
with your words,
because I don’t want you
to see
the broken bones
inside me,
while I mouth your name
and think of another.
Secret words
were losing thrill
as they became
pronounced too often
and when even more secrets
came out,
I just wanted to leave
the room,
the street,
the city,
but most of all,
I wanted you to leave my heart.
You spun me round
to screw hard
with my head
and those faint promises
were all lined up,
like soldiers
against the nazi wall,
that wasn’t strong enough
to hold the weight of our sins
(that you didn’t even consider serious!)
and everything went collapsing
in front of my green eyes,
that couldn’t cry
anymore.

– Chatty Owl –

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JUNE 7TH

Today.
A day, marked in my calendar.
Anticipated, waited, dreamt of.
It had to be the day,
when your arms and hugs
were my only clothes
and
your kisses was the only thing
I eat.
Today.
My hands had to be resting
on your hips
as I try to reach your heart
with my words,
whispered in the air…
Today.
It’s the only day
of a painful reminder,
that the only thing
that makes me dizzy to the core
is not your scent,
but cheap red wine
inside a glass
I cracked this morning.

– Chatty Owl –

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VERBAL INTERCOURSE

I hear r’s in your words
and it makes me
somewhat jealous,
that this sound
makes me tremble
with an urge
to feel your wet tongue
inside my open mouth.
Warm
hands
were holding my face
as you whispered sentences
out loud
and I couldn’t stop
sucking
the sweet sugar dew
off your lips,
when they met mine.
Suspended wrists,
ankles tied together,
tease your curiosity
with the deprived view
of all that’s me
and we both
end up
questioning,
why we haven’t done this
sooner.

– Chatty Owl –

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BUTTERFLIES

Sometimes…
No, often.
I wonder,
how do those butterflies
get inside my tummy?
How?
How do they have the power
to lift me up
and let me float
in this dream
with their colourful wings inside me,
reminding…
there were
your fingers there instead.
Once.

Sometimes…
No, often.
I wonder,
how do their colourful wings
mix shades with one another
and then just…
leave me.
One by one.
Until I find myself empty
and
longing for that warm feeling,
just below my bellybutton.
How?

– Chatty Owl –

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TELEPHONIC

This is one more collaboration with the sweet Neeraj. Enjoy!

Dew drops from your trembling lips,
I pick one by one as I kiss
to rub all over your face.
“Suck my kiss”.
“Squeeze my lips”, you beg.
“Make my lipstick melt away.”
Unhook your clothes.
Undress yourself.
Leave nothing, as they slip away
from your skin.
Tell me everything.

Tell me, how does it feel
to be craved in such a distance?
Smudged lipstick
leaves marks on my flipped palm
same way
your words leave an imprint
in my mind.
Brush your skin
against my naked bones
and
whisper to me,
if you like the taste of my hipbones.

Feel me running my hands
all over your wet skin.
Feel it
as I’m embracing you,
like a hot water swathe.
Feel my tongue
all over you neck,
inhaling your aroma
as our hearts race.

As my face goes
in between your thighs,
don’t stop
with your seducing voice.
Hold tight,
when I swirl my tongue,
let the pleasure arise
as we progress towards the heights.
Tell me if it doesn’t suffice.

Open your eyes,
hurry up slowly.
Your skin is burned with words exchanged,
your blood is hot,
the colour of my cherry lips,
that whisper sentences of distant passion –
into nothing.
An empty room.
The sound of disconnected phone call,
ringing in our ears.

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DEAD

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Your tongue
seeks revenge in my mouth
for what my hands have done
to your back,
when it was held straight
and mine was arched
for you.
My murmur
got stopped
by your pressure on my wrists
as I wiggled my way
under your
sheets,
when you wanted it to be
your life
instead.

(It was in a way though, no?)

You say your heart is weak,
because cracks of the past
can’t stop
those red-coloured liquids
escaping,
and in response
I just give you
my weak knees,
that are failing my body
on your bedroom floor,
and all the colour
is being drained
from my fingers,
that are now turning blue
as you kiss my
not-so-red-anymore
lips.

The end was not
what you expected.

– Chatty Owl –

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ABOVE THE GROUND

A hundred thousand feet
above the ground,
and all I can think of
is your arms,
full of me.
I was marking days in a calendar,
awaiting that moment
of our half-full glasses
making an overflow of feelings,
but now
I’m drinking myself stupid
and my glass
is always empty
instead.
Yes, they say
that
time heals all wounds,
but I’m self-harming myself
to oblivion,
making the irony sweet
and
the sarcasm sweeter.
I’m re-reading your letters
as others try to decipher my moods
and palms,
and even the remains
of my old coffee.
I leave them all
blank-faced and confused,
because
I hide it so well.
A hundred thousand feet
above the ground.

– Chatty Owl –