All poems copyright: ravivchhabra.com Managing Editor: fnbworld.com F lirting in rain and sultry wind are two tulips-like Lewis and Flora. Playing games and music to tease, bound in endless nature’s fragrance at ease. Flora laughs, frolics and vanishes. Lewis looks around and holds her by the hand then by toe and feels her smooth, shapely hips... Porn is not born for Lewis. Touching her all over in the faded, worn out blue jeans worn in a hurry, the gaps are wide and newly torn. Lewis slides beneath Flora’s creamy thighs reaching new highs Two lips like newly blossomed tulips are arranged in hands with gloves of love. Flora slowly brings the drum-stick near her perfect bosom and bums. Lewis hands over the flute to Flora for soothing her shiny lips A tune they start to play in a garden ‘down under’ jumping together soon on a sofa meant for Flora. Lewis caresses Flora in her home making love after downing a few shots of concocted vodka. Two sealed lip...
All poems copyright: ravivchhabra.in Managing Editor: https://fnbworld.com A facebook grab with permission by model Natou I n morning the screen shall light up again opposite the effusive glance. Her breath on my face brushing the cigarette smoke in fine strokes. I touch her face, bosom and the gleaming cheeks, desperate to hear a whisper or two in mirth as we play the music alongside. Her lips burst out with the laughter signature. Is it humour that keeps this rumour going. I probe as she takes a breather. She vanishes like the elusive chime untimed. Why her. Is it a rebound or are we future bound? Inner noise is a reliable partner. My expressions are effusive, yet, I sometimes hear her calling out my name. A distant game we play till the time she stays. Night for her is early. Morning and noon await our final journey.
All poems copyright: ravivchhabra.com Managing Editor: www.fnbworld.com H e lies under the shadow of the reading spotlight hearing the glisten in the eeriness of his soul Don't mock the broken man He smells of going fishing with friends and his fine lass walking back on the pale grass The memories keep playing truant not the dreams he sees of them then and now... Don't mock the broken man He gets visions of her bosom and his hands never wanting to let go as she first helped him slide them inside her black denim shirt Romancing to make him feel her under the skirt skin Don’t mock the broken man Rich forever he shall be. Memories for breakfast and same for dessert. They in unison stroked and smoked weed and satisfied their greed Best indeed Don't mock the broken man Has dawn knocked? He hears the crows and parrots...
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