Who could be more romantic and telling, deeply painfully loving, heartbreakingly dramatic in clenching claws of unrequited love than in the music and scenes painted in Bollywood.

How can it not be an inspiration to the mind?

This one is for the romantics ....slightly sad but, hopefully stirring.
We all know about a love once deep and then lost.
Enjoy.


" She sat. A haze of richly soft woven cloth. The colour more ruby than the blood of a royal. Gold threads just managing to hold the lightness of the weave together. The best India could offer. Skin transluscent, as light and soft in texture as the cloth that covered the nakedness.
Hair, an abundance of burgundy spilling down a majestic neck...elegant...proud.

Her hand extended to the side of her. Treated with utmost care and gentleness with every precise feather stroke, droplet...the henna artist fixated compelled to welcomed exhaustion creating a work of art on a unique canvass...her hand.

Her eyes were shut...not wanting to see for his presense burnt stronger than the need of sight.

He knelt before her in awe of a face serene. The lids hiding eyes of deep passion, the nose strong and defiant, the lips contours of love to be shared.

He reached out and cupped her neck...gently...feeling the flow of her life in the quickened pulsating of arteries in her neck...careful ....not to disturb the artist.
Her head a slight tilt backward exposing her jawline to soft kisses and gentle bites from her earlobe to the centre of her jawline and then a tracing with his lips to softly touch hers and feel them part in a near inaudible gasp.
He left her fighting for breath, her quickened heartbeat disturbing the draping of the cloth from her bossom, slowly sliding away, exposing breasts, nipples erect from a lovers tease.

She dared not open her eyes. The image so seering, addictively inviting in the anticipation of what was to follow.

The henna artist diligent, lost in the world of a feminine hand coming to life in a piece of coloured creation.

And as he stepped behind her and swept the burgundy mass from her neck, her hand quivered, the artist gasped....a drop of henna fell away.....i single droplet apart from the others.... a single tear.

His kisses from the nape of her neck down the spine of her back....his breath a path up .....breathing life into the image of him......a warmth missed.....a tear rolled down her face....
"I will love u forever." she thought she heard him whisper.

"Ma'am. It is beautiful. It is complete." said the artist , backing away, silently out of the room.

She opened her eyes....the evening wind stirring the curtains, the night sky bright with stars.

Her hand a fresh artistic expression. Her heart a broken shatter for a lover lost....lost in the eternity of a life passed."

Xxx
B.

Nice post RB, some spicy thoughts I gather?Enjoy reading your posts.

BigBen

My thoughts always spicy. How can one help oneself?

Temptation to flirt, play, whisper gentle naughtiness while standing semi-naked within reach of a naked man.

My BigBen...it is time i stand behind u and allow my "artistic" hands to stroke a path to your torso and pull u into my yielding body...spicy it shall be.

I wait....

P.S. thank u for enjoying my meanderings.

Xxx
B