Poem Four For the Hour Four

15th of the calendar, finished dining
At the best French cuisine
Had the best Amanti Vino sip
Eiffel couldn’t explain
Temptations of the whirling trumpets
From Tibetan to Paris waterspout
It showers eerily, knocks me crazy
The cackles from the windows, then towards
The witnessing cold-wither-proof rooftop
Invite his body to wrap me
All around
And the pulling force exaggerates
Bed stories filling all the corners of the room
‘twas a game of murmurs , beats and bites
Then on and on, naked surrealism
Yelling trajectory of giggles
The monsoon blessed the ecstasy
The would be another Harlequin’s whispers
Of sweet nothings
On a rainy day,
an exclaimed anniversary.

(c) Ceri Naz
photo used reverts to the original owner