Pleasures*

There are still pleasures…

Like the morning’s first drag on a cigarette
That reminds you of being alive

Like the resplendent-yellow sour-sweet fibrous flesh
Of an Alphonso mango that cools a hot summer’s day

Like the effervescent fountains of laughter with a long-lost friend 
Remembering the silliness of your innocent youth

Like the shimmering constellations of affection and approval
That light up her twin eyes every time she says yes

Like the musky-dusty aroma of the long-parched, just-drenched Earth
That arouses you as if it was some cosmic pheromone

Like the final fulfilled flap that marks the finish of a book 
With a delicious denouement that wakes up your incipient daydreams

Like the novel you’ve been writing in your head, in your room
With no thought of ever publishing it to the world

There are still pleasures…
That aren’t yet forbidden

2 thoughts on “Pleasures*

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