finding you, starry night...and remembering your sweet black mole...

Wow! with that black saree pinned
As you on the chair sideways leaned
Could have killed me on the spot
My ECG coming to a dot...

God! Your black chiffon so fabulous
Had the whole of uncorrupted Vesuvius!
Thought of going near you,
Cause you know well how in lieu
Of seven non smoking days
I to you once submitted my ways-
For you hated then smoker's pant
Specially when I on you did slant...

But what's the use of rummaging past?
Playing with the dry foliage fallen to dust?
It is far better a proposition
To watch you there on the chair so positioned
Almost  like a night sky so spread with stars
Specially I getting to see you, after  so many years!
As Vincent Van Gogh on canvas drew sure!
And Don Mclean set it to a lovely music score...

Watching you now after several years
Devoid of any trace of salted tears,
Is one of my blessed moments so far-
Apart from that of discovering a small black mole, one night, under white fur
With which you covered your back of left thigh
And I caressed you...all night...till the night did die...

Oops! sorry again to go to the past
Moving away from your starry night drape vast!
What's the use of all these things of past so decadent
Why, your starry emblem so to my past, did always bend?

I wish I could perceive your presence as a whole...
Not thinking of finding your small black sweet mole...