Saturday, 10 December 2016

A photographer's muse


And I clicked her as she unravelled,
In gay abandon in the luxury of her boudoir.

With the evening rays filtering through the drapes sprinkling her flesh, she posed.
Not for the frame but for herself.
Her space where she lived.

I kept clicking...

When she opened her dark waves cascading down her nakedness,
They enveloped her like a mystery.
Her luscious breasts whispering from their darkness.

As she arched, her tresses encircled like an halo effect.
That was a sight
So contained and content she was in herself.
She didn't need any.
But tormented I was in agony.

As her pinnacles displayed their magnificence,
She spread her wings towards the sky
Liberating her creased petals and its musky fragrance

Was it the blurry camera or the haze in my vision.
I didn't care
Setting the camera on self timer mode, I joined her.
She became my hedonistic muse.





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