You need to read Kadali’s blog before you read this response.
Dear S,
To see the sun hues, it’s through the wetness of the world. When the rays hit perfectly the drops of water. And when you wet your lips, it’s not the maroon that I see, but the desire that is spread on those lips. Forgive me if my eyes mix maroon shades and red hues, it’s the desire, the pulsating want that you carry around on your lips for me.
I want to kiss those lips, chew on them as if it’s a baby’s gums on her mother’s nipple. I want to them to forget all the men who ever kissed them, and also forget their need for moisture.
My wall is not for pinning. Walls hold paint and other things that stick to them. It will be the Nile through you that will gush the paint of my walls with screams of your pleasure.To be on top is never the position of power, rather the hands guiding, pinching and squeezing as if it’s a cloud dripping dew as you ride and bounce and moan.
To the movie, your eyes will be glued under the skin of your eyelifs, rolling and breath will be trapped in your throat for fear of being heard, and my fingers, in the darkness partial chased by screen light, will drawl my name out of every syllable will you moan out.
deathofwords 