I am not a poet

I am not a poet, but I speak in rhythms
Evoke rhymes like threads, to alternate her tough times
A jingle to her thighs
A hose to blur lines
Coverage, the true element of disguise, I

I searched within the true barriers of her deepest thoughts
Enabled her to give into my words of sweetest talks
Every word would penetrate through the crevices of her hearts core
Gradually and patiently she exposed her flaws.

I am not a poet but my rhythms uncover her true self
Stories untold of her darkest paths
Ignorance and despair in the mix
I am undeserving of the knowledge to trends from each shelf
As I unpack documents of confidence
I concur to understand her confound dramatics
I deduce to sense. I

With each piece of her exposed, I cover her
Attaching each part of her soul piece after piece
Promising to rest her peace
Soothing her sorrows with ease
each stitch was an ever ending cycle of tears
Pain to the bruises of heartbreak
As she'd rest, in her slumber I'd mend her thoughts with the warmth of each kiss, expressing my worship to her feet I'd bow, a covenant of loyalty, betrayal to myself to embrace her worth.

I am not a poet but my rhythms are not pretenses
They do not reject me when I need their incense
For instance, the day you lured my nostrils to fall for your fragrances
Each lie became expenses
Of the love we endured to sexual pleasures.
The waters gushing off our skin as marriage to our souls, we were wrapped in disillusion, or was I?

Our love was a war with thousands of casualties
Each cell devoted its energy
So that our minds inclined
A true dedication of rhymes
Physically and spirituality confined
Reminisce those memories of mine
See I say mine because you could not see the bigger picture,
See you were you without I, but I became a part of you,
But you were blind to I.

I am not a poet but I speak in rhythms
To rhymes of rhythmic punctuality
Instinctive musicality to my vocabulary
Unleash sources in analogy
Conscripted to her minds mentality
Bound to her brutality
A betrayal documentary

I am not a poet...,but
My rhythms relish stories so pure
Her deceit caught me out, I was a fool
To think that having her heart would be cool
Distortion to truths choked my inner being
Enclosing my every tube to breath
I have subscribed to death,
I continue to die daily

I am not a poet, It would be a good idea
At present I am a poem,
Connecting each pulse
hear my plea in between these rhythmic lines of lob dub

A.O. Mehlomakulu