Archive Sections: letters | music | index | features | photos | arts/lit | satire Find Iranian singles today!

Now that spring is here
Season me in your scent

March 28, 2007

Now That Spring Is Here
I want to die and wake up in your writings. I want to be frozen yet my eyes watch the path you walk in eternity. Add me to your moves. That is how I want to move. Encourage me to leave. That is how I want to leave yet live near you. I rise, I fall, and I fly to be touched by you for a second. I want to impregnate chili on my lips, on my nipples so when you lick me your mouth will burn together with my skin. Season me in your scent, school me in your words, I am risking, giving, daring, I am always awaiting you. You are my ritual. I bow to the manner in which you write. You are the energy and the evidence that the world tilts a couple of times and now at this time it is my turn to tilt around you, for you, to serve you, to receive you with all you are. I love you in my entirely human knowledge and existence. I love you in all the positions a woman can make love to you. I love you in all your varieties. You master the writing, the making, the being, the loving. You are the aroma, and the peace. You are love. With you morals are dispensable. Every principle I know and believe in I fold at your feet. I am the least mysterious and in my least complexity I love you. I am one drop of wine. I am one drop of tear, simple. Now wake up and kiss me. Wake up and let me hear your voice. Wake up and hold me. Wake up to me. I want you now that spring is here. I want you passionately. I want you to push your fingers inside my chest, to take my heart in your hands, and smash it so that the hurting goes away. I want you then to put the pieces back together and caress, kiss, and place it in my chest, and close me up. I want you then to heal me so that I am healed by you. I love you. I love my new skin that is rejuvenated by your words. I love me for I am now with my heart that has your touch all over it.

My Living Body Is Yours
I imagine you alone wanting me to come to you. I imagine you opening the door for me and taking me in to love you. I imagine you loving me soft and hard, reading me your words in low and in high, and letting me hold you as you read. I imagine you writing for me and reading those words for me. I imagine you then saying these are for you and I will keep them, hold them, kiss them, carry them in my bra the closest to my heart. I want your words to touch my skin. I want to carry you inside me. I want to have your words sit securing my innocent extra life. I want you to be yours and for me to be able to hold you as you remain yours. I want you to let me prostitute my way to yours. I don't want mistrust, tailored suit and cultural costume. I believe in your honesty. There is no daylight with more light than your words. I am the most grateful woman who reads you, and hears you with absolute knowledge and lack of it. You don't expect miracles. You are one. Dominate me. My living body is yours as are my writings for ever. I am your seeker. Comment


For letters section
To Sheema Kalbasi

Sheema Kalbasi


Echoes in Exile
by Sheema Kalbasi

Copyright 1995-2013, Iranian LLC.   |    User Agreement and Privacy Policy   |    Rights and Permissions