My Poetry Burns

My poetry burns
with envy tonight.

For hours had I
picked and plucked
Words that sang
of you my love.

From tempest eyes
and summer cheeks
My words spoke of
your cherry lips.

When your tresses
invoked the night
On paradise of that
moonlit spine,
My words sang of
your feather arms
Before they hymned
your anklet chime.

They sang your coy
they sang your tears
Oh how my words
could ever fail,
For now they broke
like a waterfall
To the poetry behind
your bosoms veil.

Making my verse
now complete
I stood in front with
trembling feet,
But all you did
was glance and smile
And all my words
sat in defeat.

My poetry burnt
with envy tonight
And freed me once
of all my pride.

Oh how my words
can match that shine
Let it just love that
beauty divine.

© Arindam Dey

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