Rousing sweetly per the morning mist,
forming ephemeral fairies with each breath
Darkness receding with every step;
a chill emanates through dew kissed lips
Hallowed thine vessel,
touched by a holy saint
Lips tremble, speak thy praise
yet they speak not of their own accord
A whiff inundates whole of man
of old parchment, jasmine,
coffee scented kisses,
and of sweet regret
For a mere mortal to gawk upon
the goddess of the morning star
Luck, but a wandering illusion,
to me, a part of the grand design
Brushing my lips, against her butterscotch lips
The air caroling wildly
with the smell of buttered toast
and blueberry muffins
Khayyam dancing to primordial beat,
a rhythm of reveling,
of love and of merriment
As if, the kiss, a verse out of the Rubiyat
A DESI MUFFIN 