You're a Sunday afternoon on a typical winter's day.
I lay back on my lazy boy couch
to catch a sight of your supremacy .
You're the reason why God rested on the seventh sunrise.
He lay back to gaze at your barren soil.
Then went on to watch me waltz by your dry spelled sand,
to spill my overflowed cup of wine,
a holy grail.
The by-standing plants all hail.
He deems your garden a shrine.
We're on a fast track to a backtrack.
We're Adam and Eve without the sin,
amidst a garden He placed His first seed in.
Eden,
solely from seeds of blood.
A product of gentle hands,
made from the scarcest of strands.
This is love.
Now I know that what we have
is anointed by the man above.
