(From my poetry Collection 'Signatures')
My friends in
Mesopotamia
My friends in Mesopotamia ,
trading out a drooping
sleep,
dropping with love or out,
by Babylonian
rudiments
advised me to
pillow her head upon my breast
and whisper in my
lyre the softest best;
But she refuses
confirming,
boneliness is
barely more
than nothingness.
And more than
touching my thigh
in bed.
licking over my throat
making it red;
As I heaved a long sigh
she took pity on my
maleness;
reacted out of
grace.
I concluded no
novel discoveries
can be made
on the field of
making love
from the times of
my friends in Mesopotamia
Vaiyavan
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