Fungayi Elias Ndhlovu Poet Alexandrine

Planned Unplanned

We met at Bervelino’s
On a Friday night,
Nothing was planned,
It was planned.

I said your hair was beautiful honeyed;
Asked for your digits,
You snapped no!
I lit a cigarette;
Your fingers rushed for your nose;
I am about to lose this gem
I feared; losses at love are mine
I soothed, closed the intent.

We headed for Holiday Inn,
Sat by the pool plush,
We could have dived in.

Later, we stole the whole club
That jazzy night
As we kissed as if there
Was no one else around
And we were seated
In a private sanctuary cave:
It was planned and matched in heaven:

That Friday night I met Celine, my angel.

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