I read her body like tagore’s verse , written in Braille,
My fingers searching the pages of her skin, gently brushing away
the hair that falls like a silken bookmark ,across her face.

Nimble fingertips work way down the page,
Hands trembling with excitement,
anticipating which words will follow.

Fingers linger in some areas, reread, so that on lonely nights
like this one I will be able to recite the subtle nuances of
her neck or the mystery surrounding her navel.

I drink her through my senses; hear her voice- so soft and sweet
Like a thousand unspoken words balanced on the tip of her tongue
Her skin feels like a silky velvet sheet has been cast over this exquisite body

I try hard to interpret these verses for others, but there is no translation
for her lungs breathing into the palm of my hand,
or her heart, beating its ancient tribal rhythms in sync with mine.

Now she only comes out of my memories like a glistening star