Wet Hair

Today the afternoon was hot, its heat reminded me,
Of similar afternoons I had before, when the heat was just the same,
Only then some things were unlike,
Because some things are never meant to be the same.
Verandah, hot afternoon, newspaper and I,
And into the verandah she came after her bath,
Then with a jerk of her head from left to right,
Made me mesmerize for long its aftermath.
Droplets of water, as fresh as dew,
Turned the afternoon into a slight shower of rain,
And even she knew she did this purposely,
Though only a coincidence would she it feign.
Wet hair, wet lips, water-drops on the face,
And she would pretend she didn’t realize,
As long as I got up and with my fingers,
Run it across her face and did her tantalize.
She would then turn away her face feeling ashamed,
And I did remove her mask of shame,
And then she would smile, a naughty one,
Oh, I can still remember her face exactly the same.
My hands across her neck would briskly,
Move across and down through her body,
She tried to remain mute for a long time,
But alas not before long she again became wordy.
A push on the back, my eyes opened,
And I came back to the sordid present,
What a flashback today I got,
I wish I was forever for her meant.

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