"Can I ask you something?" she said.
Radiant. That's the word.
She looked so alive and enlightened
this morning,
even the sun would kill
to be as vibrant as her eyes.
They bore into mine
with the kind of intensity
that churns your stomach and
makes you feel vulnerable,
submissive.
"Go for it." I answered.
Her vivid pupils contracted and expanded.
I was chained to her and
far from finding the combination
that could free me from this lock of lust.
Her soul was a blaze, I could see
the heat rushing to her face.
"Why did you call me Africa that day?"
Such a wild, curious mind,
must be in your instincts to
dig out and expose the raw.
But I know a creature like you
when I see it.
There's no doubt, your soul is
too naive, you want to dismember
the flesh of my secrets.
"Can I ask you something first?" I asked.
"Sure."
"Have you ever been so thrilled
and you've had that feeling
which you're unfamiliar with
but it feels so good- too
good
like you're high in drugs that
are too abstract, and you can't put
together exactly
what
is it that you're gathering
but with time you become
so into it and so
addicted,
so addicted
at some point you
have
to give it a name
because you think you need some type of medication,
because it's driving you insane,
and it's tugging at the edges of your heart
North, South, East and West,
darling.
It is tearing you apart
because you can't have a hold of it,
and the only fixture for that
is believing that you can possess it,
is believing that you can master it,
by giving it a name.
Do you know that feeling,
Africa?
cause it's not only a feeling
for me. I'm blessed to say it's actually a person."
YOU ARE READING
I named her Africa #Wattys2015
PoetryI didn't mind if my fingertips were rusted with coffee grounds, or if my palm still hosted bread crumbs, I reached out my hand across the table, and you squeezed it but proved me wrong. My mind was spiraling, my heart, unstable. ____________________...
