The vivacious beauty
designed by twigs
Charming young woman
sketched by backwater ripples
The village beauty painted in
oil by twilight
The beloved woven in
arteries by wind
The woman in love stitched
by some night green
in jungle shades
The serpentine vamp
painted in raw oil colours
of the sunset by
the dusk
I could not touch any of them
There were vivid sounds in the darkness
There were so many things
in the changing portraits
of her constantly
being sketched and erased by
some strange sign language
and folklore of
an ancient tribelusts of different ages
orgasmic pleasures,
forehead that was the
vestige of a cultural past
cheeks that were battle runs
eyes in which the deers of
cupid sprint
Still my search is on
