Desire

Under the soft translucent linen,
   the ridges around your nipples

harden at the thought of my tongue.
  You — lying inverted like the letter 'c' —

arch yourself deliberately
  wanting the warm press of my lips,

it's wet to coat the skin
  that is bristling, burning,

breaking into sweats of desire —
  sweet juices of imagination.

But in fact, I haven't even touched
  you. At least, not as yet.

from Lines of Desire (USA), Indian Love Poems (New York/London: Knopf/Random House/Everyman's Library, 2005), and forthcoming in Blue Nude: New Selected Poems & Translations 1980-2010.