You are my poetry; sapphire blue, sandlewood scented ink,
painting you and I cradled in intimate metaphors,
though you lay thousands of miles away;
storing urgent longings of my heart in ardent daydreams,
till tender moments can be shared, and made legendary.
Words come spilling, clinging together, from memory,
flowing through my trembling hands;
writing I love you backwards and forth,
scribing you as the most fragile part of me,
yet my strongest connection.
I write you beautiful in imagery;
Nairobi gold; the blazing noon sun,
the black velvet curtains drawn round me,
never to be disquieted, hour of midnight;
inhales and exhales that slip from my lips as low moans.
You are my poetry, the fevered forbidden dance
etched upon pages as detonating verses with passionate probes,
till words become silent, where they have no place.
And I let pen fall from hand, to dare dream real
behind the veil of my eyes, as I lay me down.