I am a patient drummer. / Caressing the mystic skin of this seismic mermaid…
This is What you Could be / You Could be More
The angels are not a thing of wonder!
The angels are no longer a thing of wonder!
The appearance of your untutored apparition
Has cured me my fantasy with heaven.
Heart heaving to fading echoes of nomadic drums
Gathering dusk underneath dialed feet
Dribbling dust into the darkening dusk
Pinpoint attractiveness, pupils condensed into fiery fireballs
Staring into the abyss of history?
No! For history has proved to be a sweet liar
This is not all you could be
Lips stretched through savannahs of satire
Nose-lids petals dangling from prickly bushes
Brows cropped to precision, there is a moon angling for angelic status
Is it an halo? It is a halo. A crescent descends,
Cancel previous poems penned about you,
You do not ask if a snake is poisonous before killing it
You do not ask if it is danger before running
/// I am a patient drummer.
Caressing the mystic skin of this seismic mermaid.
You’re not an earthly idea.
No! You could be more.
I am a patient lover.
My palm drums the rhythm of sensuality shielded within your folds.
Until she unfolds.
Like an orchid blossoming. There is a flower blossoming.
Let a river meander through your miseries.
Let a man find home in the blind gropings.
Let strangers find landmarks of previous pervasions preserved upon heated skin.
Let my lips find solace in your moistened songs… Dammit you don’t understand.
Some things have an open ending.
There are poems that have no ending.
You’re an evolving evolution.
Do you hear me?
Do you get me?
You Could be More Than This.
Poetry: Emmanuel Idem
Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay
Perhaps I would challenge you to a game of chess one of these days.