Sometimes like a wine, She looks at me eyes, pouring,

Sometimes
Like a wine,
A flame by Her art,
Her white flannel Shirt,
Her smiling light,
Like an evening this,
She pours her Self,
Onto me,
Telling me,
A story,
Of her own,
Preserved,
Closeted,
Yet vaccumed ...

'I never told ya,
How much I loved...
That happiness that dispersed
Through the air, thin,
Yet so so ignited
Like a beam,
Like cards laid up
On a table,
A party of playing a hand or two,
You calling a bluff,
Me adding a few,
A Bridge, a reading session,
A mystic motion
Dressing me,
Like a Sea,

Then
Opening them one by one,
On the table,
A reading glass,
A birth of a poetic brush,
Sketching stories of wonder,
Like reaching to those clouds
Of  southern hemisphere,
Where a little river
Flew by our lives of Faith,
O I how left all things Unsaid,
For You, to collect like opened palms,
For You, to read there my psalms,
For You, to shape up our forefathers,
For me to read like a true astrologer,
For you to plant seeds of awakening,
For me to leave poetry of dravidan lining,
For you to wander to the forest, to sands, to storms, to hurricanes,
For me to monitor your curious changes,
For you to go happy like a Virgo,
For me to look at your Unseen eyes,
For you to sing for my Unhindered mind,
For me to look at your visor strong,
For you to see through my sitting on a rock,
For me to remeasure rescale reevaluate receive your rise to Hope,
For you to look at my unraveled telescope,
For me to catch those starry dust from sky,
For you to click a shutter on my flight,
For me to keep tabs on you, yet never telling you,
How in my cottage fell your wintry dews...
How from works me set aside still
Some poems by me
On my window sil,by western frontier,
Reddened by a gust of blowing wind...'

Sometimes,
Like a wine,
She pours
Her art,
Her Whitest shirt,
Her Poetic Mirth,
Her Winged Flights,
Onto me,
Soul,
Soul
Like,
And me
on philosopher's stone
A line with gold discovers...

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