It chokes and mauls me,
It suffocates me as its venom spread to shake my heart,
It kneads and lives me vulnerable to hurt,
When you hunt it,
I remained obdurate to love,
Its obsession sucks my strength,
When the peril of real epitome of African beauty sprout her,
Chokes and desires of having you drown me into sour guts,
It is a suicide how this eerie feeling fills,
For it freezes not the frosted and fermented heart to freedom
It is suicidal how love is.
Copyright © Sabion Osore | Year Posted 2015
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