The swing rocks back and forth,
the churning screeches of rusted metals in friction is the only sound
howling
under the full moon of this playground.
I've left my car down the road, countless blocks away, where the music
from the party has become
just a blur.
I've been searching for you, Africa,
I've been shuddering under street lamps
and flinching at the buzzing of flies.
It's four in the morning
and you're nowhere to be seen.
I don't want to leave you walking on your own,
pained, confused, tipsy and alone,
it'd be so careless of me to not walk with you home.
YOU ARE READING
I named her Africa #Wattys2015
PoesíaI 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. ____________________...
