(What words are you?)
You are a poem
Even your back, steeps like a pure stream
where your hands want to flow to your sea
Your words were written on the soil
as I found you when I tracked my longing to you.
I’ve understood what battlefields you are
and after all this time I want to be in your tsunami
You should know, poems are phantoms
composed of words that carry spears or shields.
You’ve become the definition of poetry
You are my scared ink, the fountain of desire
You are the broken verses and I have lines we can mend with
You are my poem to Pulitzer.
I never seek to contain you
but be a warrior to pull your arched bow.
My beloved, you write fireflies with your lips
and I don’t have enough bushes for you to rest on,
Instead I am writing a dictionary in the language of violence
so the world will know my chest is a crime scene
And seek to study and unravel the mystery of unrequition.
My idea of reading poetry is to touch you
And if someone were to ask me how, I would say
Have you ever seen how leaves dance when she passes
through the forest?
Or how waves blush when she scoops water at the shore?
I am jealous of how your skin shines such that
I want to stick on it like droplets of water and recite
how I pretend to know nothing about kissing
so that I can kiss you longer.
There are many times I want to be the air that inhabits you
if only I can realize that silence is a closed door we walk through
I want to live on your tongue so you could speak of me
I want to fuck you
Like Moses tablets and crush in your fire of sin
so that I can learn the commandments when I am burning.
You are a small, unknown town
Noisy in uncertainty
and as you wheeze, you shatter me in pieces
So much that I want to crawl inside you and build our home.
But there is this graveyard I keep visiting as a sad being
To mourn the absence of your touch
To mourn the absence of you.
There are words inside you that I’ve failed to describe
It is my inadequacy but I want you to be mine
I wont say this infront of you but
you are someone I’ve wanted to rub like a bow on a violin
To find a way to listen to the symphony of your eyes.
I lust too because I am unable to comprehend
how the stars have an anniversary to remember how you smile.
I stood before you like a book
but your hands were tied in knots,
The covers scared you and you were afraid to read.
Now I am honestly unable to tell you,
How much I need you to see me as a desolate island
so you can invade me with your hands.
You can dispute the songs of my lamentations
But anchor me in the landscape of your legs
I want to know how to spell – L.O.V.E
I want to know which words compose you
I want to write of you because all the others refused to listen
I reach out to you but where are you?
© Eddy Ongili 2015