You

I've been told that I'm creative, that my imagination runs free.
My mind is a labyrinth that can hold galaxies and gods and magic,
But it could not ever have pictured something as infinitely beautiful
and perfect as you.
I look at you the way one would look up the night, 
In all its majestic beauty.
I am awed by you; for no poet, no artist, no dreamer
could ever create anything even half as incredible as you.

Happy as Pie

"Zo, I'm happy as pie," you said to me. And I laughed at you for ten whole minutes. With you, there's never a dull moment. It doesn't matter where we are, or what we're doing, you always find a way to bring me immeasurable joy. Whether we're cracking strawberry and camel jokes, discussing ideas for Pakistani pornos, laughing at cold coffee foam, fighting over doughnuts, making up The Adventures of Sexcalibur in the Black Hole, or doing voice-overs for dildo ads, we're always happy. Even when I'm mad at you, or PMS-ing, you find a way to calm me down. You're a complete retard, for that very reason, I love you. I love everything, stories of your Russian "friend", singing Barbie Girl at the top of our lungs, inviting everyone to our imaginary Nikkah, talking in funny accents, getting free food from the mart, bitching sessions at 3 a.m., googling porn stars, bouncing off your face, losing my balance completely when you pushed me off, the Batman study, the one-toothed doctor, the three skinny men, "don't eat ghutkaa," drawing bras, catwalking on Skype, "dilwaalon ki shaadi ho jaye", gay Arab men, and laughing at absolutely nothing, all of it. Every second of the past 117 days (10108800 seconds, I made the sum thingy)  has made me as happy as pie. Babe, you and I are total chootiyas, and it's perfect.


P.S. Okay I lied, I used a calculator, cause I got the sum wrong. Twice.

Ink

I want to ink my words onto your skin,

trace it first with my fingers,

then my tongue,

tasting the poetry.

Perhaps the words will penetrate

the surface and sink in

to be printed onto your very core.

I want you to feel the truth

in every stroke of my pen,

to know that every curve of each letter

has been drawn in earnest.

My thoughts don't sound right

when spoken out loud,

I stutter and pause and am

at a loss for words;

but written down they mirror

that which is deep within me.

I want you to see that side of me,

and not mistake my pauses

for hesitation or uncertainty.

The love I feel has a clarity

that you cannot possibly imagine,

for not even in the 

deepest recesses of your mind

have you begun to comprehend

its depth.

I express myself best with ink,

and so I will ink my words onto your skin.

I will imprint my desires 

and passions onto flesh.

Then I will write you a poem in kisses

that reflects the joy you bring me.

My World

If I strung up all my thoughts,
Laid my memories out on the floors,
Papered walls with dreams and hopes,
Then all I would see around me 
would be you.
But I suppose that would not be
any different from right now,
As all I see around me 
is already you.
My entire universe is captured
In a tilted smile;
And all the sunrises are found 
In those eyes;
You are my whole world.

Ninety-One Skipped Beats

Ninety-one beautiful and unbelievably perfect days. Ninety-one nights of broken sleep and ninety-one mornings of groggy grins. Ninety-one times, I've lost control of my lungs. Ninety-one skipped beats. Ninety-one blushes that crept upon my face. Ninety-one times my eyes avoided yours. Ninety-one songs sung off-key. Ninety-one fierce embraces. Ninety-one ridiculous laughs. Ninety-one whispered conversations and a thousand kisses later, here we are. I want you to know that you mean the world to me.

Lipstick

He checked his watch for the fourth time, and clicked his tongue impatiently. He fidgeted with the car keys, sighed loudly, and called out her name again.


"Can you come up here for a second? I need your help with this," her voice floated over to him. Muttering under his breath, he ran up the stairs and threw open the bedroom door, ready to make an angry remark, but stopped short at the sight of her.


She sat on the dresser, leaning back on her hands, legs crossed seductively and sticking her chest out. Clad only in black underwear and a pair of four-inch stilettos, she tossed back her chocolate curls as her dark crimson lips formed an alluring smile.


She stretched out an arms and switched off the lamp. The only illumination left was the moonlight that filtered in through the lace curtains. Gracefully, she slid off the dresser and began to strut towards him, slipping out of her underwear as she drew closer. The silver light touched upon every contour of her body, the shadows playing with her luxuriant curves.


He gazed at her in awe, suddenly aware of his tall erection. He ached to hold her, to explore her. He reached for her waist, but before he could, she dropped to her knees and undid his belt. Her fingers were cold on his abdomen, and he exhaled loudly.


She pulled his pants down to his knees and left a dark lipstick stain on his thigh. She drew back her head and looked up at him, "We're going to be a bit late for the dinner," she whispered.


Too breathless to speak, he nodded his head, swallowed hard and mouthed, "Okay."

The Futility of Language

If only there was a way to make you understand the beauty in all that you are. The joy your existence throws to me is infinite. Words fail me; I try to tell you what it is you mean to me, but all I can do is curse at the futility of language. I can only try, and even though I know that there is no way to successfully convey to you all that is within me, I will continue to try. Every single day, I will try to explain to you that you are incredible in every way.


Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
-William Butler Yeats