She...

Parched and dry I was, Devoid of abandon,
Graced my life she did, with precision and passion wanton,
Love at first sight it was not,
Devious was the plot,
The seduction slow.

A whiff of her is all that it takes
for me to lose myself in placid lakes.
When I touch her, everything in me dies
Yet, I never felt more alive.
Am I courting the elixir or the poison??
Or am i just naive?
to play with my life without a sigh...

A play it is, a twilight game.
She the hound, me the hare.
Mind you, no blood sport this.
"Just Life longing for itself"
Try as I might to run away,
I rather be the meat on the Hunter's plate.

She is there in my every breath,
well sometimes I do lose her scent,
and then I remember her.
Unjudging she is, unrepentant i am.
Poets may describe her fragrance primrose or ivy.
My Beloved One simply calls her Shambhavi..