Halted Spring Bud

blooming rose bud
Pixabay

It`s beautiful outside the sleepy bedroom,
Organized like a natural peaceful ballroom.
Your joyful innocence, melting my mythical rudeness.
Your colorful selfdom painting my prosaic eternal canvas.
The beauty of spring is burning my solitary paleness,
The melodious weather is dancing in raspy silence,
Like a glow-worm dancing without creepy tune of cricket.
Indeed, spring is basking my stale intrinsic emotion.
Your exquisite autocratic stance is seducing,
my addictive untouched honeycomb,
and ardently pricking out my flattery destiny.
And your adorable verbal alacrity is boiling me for century.
Your dazzling rebellious attitude,
redefined as an adopted persuasion,
making me insane and prodding my relentless modesty.
My unromantic heart can romance,
your every single mystifying sensory,
As my tired skin can fell the blow of this spring fragrance.
Your sizzling magical voice,
flooding my sluggishly rectified senses.
Like a bloody heart pumping,
blood to rejuvenate lifeless veins.
I feel it, warmly whispering the edge of my hearing.
And magnetizing my all infatuated attention.

My heart is reflecting the ray,
engraved with crystal worm intimacy,
My plunging heart bits are ticking,
and rattling my egocentric blood cells.
Blowing in veins with a vision of ejaculation.
The bizarre beauty of your witty roughness,
Left me in the garden of obsessive lotuses,
where I am unconsciously planting red carnation.
but I fear the sprouting bud,
Miscarriage my virgin seclusion.

So wrapping up my affinity with such a warmth,
that later she finds its primitive freshness.
May be another spring, will let it bloom,
When the barren rock turns into wit loom.