Ixora, a poem by Bright Kingsley at Spillwords.com
Deepak Kumar



written by: Bright Kingsley



Are not all these pretties, Ixora,
the colour of sunset—
pouring down on windows
the way your fingers
pour down on my body?

Were not all these lips
born to gale, and sew love
into wet kisses?

Was not this night made
for closed curtains—
for lovers and their
Ugandan discussions?

tonight, Ixora, I plead thee—
let us peel our nakedness
from their mirrors and walk
them into shadows,
hanging our love side-by-side
with the moon—
praying they both last long

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