By Amit Parmessur
Ten… I peep through your flying curtains.
Nine… I unlock the door slowly.
Eight… I let your fragrance guide me.
I won’t rush straight to… number one.
Seven… I find your sweet room.
Six… I meet you where it gets quite dark.
Five… I touch you, run my fingers over you.
Four… I let my lips taste your eyes, slowly.
Hold it! I won’t rush straight to… number one.
Ten… I get back, back to zero.
Nine… I kiss you on your hips, delicately.
Eight… sweetly, I smell your perfume.
Seven… tell me you are my friend.
Six… promise, promise you’ll be my friend.
I won’t rush straight to… number one.
Five… fingers.
Four… play.
Three… let’s free our minds.
Two… Don’t rush straight to… number one.
I won’t rush straight to… number one.
We won’t rush straight to… number one.
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Aged 28, Amit Parmessur is from Mauritius. He has been published in around 70 magazines since starting to submit his poems late 2010. Dead Snakes, Heavy Hands Ink, Leaf Garden Press and The Houston Literary Review are some of the places where he has appeared. He currently edits The Rainbow Rose at http://therainbowroseezine.blogspot.com/
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