New York Stories
Few sights arrest my heart as the timeless ritual of a couple holding hands inside a sun-stroked concrete jungle, the recognition of love in their eyes as they live in the moment, seeing only each other, breathing each other, marveling at their existence on the planet at the same time and drowning in the magic of the shapeless hunger of their kisses. Their trivial talk revolves around 'Big Nick's' and 'The Cottage' as yellow cabs buzz past. They ache to possess. They ache to belong. Their lips tune into each other's quiet, feeling the sense of urgency in the heat of the embellished lamp work of their want. Their bodies talk like clean white sheets of paper and they write New York Stories on each other's heart.
© Jaspreet Mann. Traveling Light. All Rights Reserved.
Few sights arrest my heart as the timeless ritual of a couple holding hands inside a sun-stroked concrete jungle, the recognition of love in their eyes as they live in the moment, seeing only each other, breathing each other, marveling at their existence on the planet at the same time and drowning in the magic of the shapeless hunger of their kisses. Their trivial talk revolves around 'Big Nick's' and 'The Cottage' as yellow cabs buzz past. They ache to possess. They ache to belong. Their lips tune into each other's quiet, feeling the sense of urgency in the heat of the embellished lamp work of their want. Their bodies talk like clean white sheets of paper and they write New York Stories on each other's heart.
© Jaspreet Mann. Traveling Light. All Rights Reserved.