There is too much space when we face each other
That I wonder why my hands and lips engage in a sprint
And why your dress is magnetized with indigenous threads
That keep snapping whenever my eyes balance on your chest
Maybe it is me but what is the correlation between your touch
And what mornings should be
I am concerned with details like
Why does your hem seem to call my name whenever you sit beside me?
And why is there a smooth unyielding structure of your exposed thighs
Whenever I admit that I am just a water paint engineer
In need of survival by the loamy fountain of your fortress
Can I stand forever this way and replenish the godly pebbles of want
Each time you calm the primal minaret by holding my attention.
You burn so ferociously, I wonder if I might taste your ashes
To heal the sore throat occasioned by the myth of your absence
You like mushrooms a lot, do they have enough canopies to shelter our desires
From the synthetic nature of our hunger games
Do you realize?
Desires are quiet; they gather at the foothill of the heart until one day,
They destabilize our bodies with an erupting language of volcanicity.
Like shaking pleasurably with the touch of waves on the shore
People keep shouting our desires are showing but we are always closing our eyes
Escaping from the ironical romance of May afternoons
With a series of important conceptualizations only this time with our hands
We are tired of uniformity that our school of romance
Is blazing like a tragic poem hanging loosely in your spine
With private notifications of why I can’t graduate from your back.
© Eddy Ongili 2015