There is no relevance to lust
Love ought to begin from the lips
From kisses, bites-n-nibbles and burning lips
Impatient kisses, that do not inquire
Nor await any response
From the thirst of glances
Stemming from their waists
And a series of targets
Aiming at each-other within their clinging bodies
Love ought to begin from hands
Hands, aware of intertwining
And twisting – impatiently – with and by arms
And bodies able to get naked before each-other
– with no embarrassment, no courtesy –
Mutually shivering in the thrill of 103 degrees
Love is nude, eternal nude
As a newborn
Surfacing from the snug womb
And continuously crying
The same as a sin, like a scandal
The same as a woman – who has let her hair down- stepping into the bath
Trembling breasts and hanging hands by her sides
As a man sprawled out on bed after making love with his sweetheart
Love is not the man peeping through the key-hole
And waiting outside
For you to get dressed
Nor is it a woman offering cold coffee
And talking about the weather
Zinat Noor