To Her


I want to stare at her
the way she needs to be stared at
without the aid of a reference material
the way a painting is glorified on a wall
and notice the silent grace of her eyes
so that my salvation will fuck terrestrial brilliance
with the collision of our eyes

I crave to hold her
the way she imagines cotton cat-walking on her skin
intensely and delicately, without persuasion
and knit myself on her body as a handmade sweater
like how seduction scripts the night but no one notices
except the resplendent sensuality​ of fireflies

I want to love her
Willingly, privately, publicly, honestly
Not just because she is a woman
but for the knowledge of infinity etched inside her
that god, should I die pursuing my desires
I​ would still love her from beyond
to ripple through each metaphor of longing

I want to breathe her
the way she wants to survive
in inches, at a distance, eternally
with a delicate balance of passion
yet to explode in my innards making me crazy and helpless
when adrenaline bursts in my bloodstream making me seek nourishment
on her soft, supple, turgid, plentiful flesh beyond specific fantasies

I want to touch her
the way she longs to have feather dance on her skin
delicately, softly, without conviction
to be a criminal traceable on her skin
and punishable in entirety of an amateur detective messing with a crime scene
to have her suspend me into the waiting cliff of her china eyes, so I can crush in her heart

I want to kiss her
Passionately, seductively, prayerfully and in silence
Beyond the magical mixture of tongues; spiritually and physically
to have experiences of our own

To when I stop hesitating​ from admitting I can no longer live without her.

© Eddy Ongili 2016


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