That Thing

Upstairs, I peek at your picture. I know I shouldn't but there you are. Something keeps pulling me back To catch just one more eye of your beauty. O Enobong of Ikot Ekpene, princess of Ibiakpan Whose beauty brought Eket to its knees. It is neither your flowery openness Nor your child-like innocence, Neither your inner brilliance nor your aura, It is neither the manner your lips Curve upward when you smile Nor the way your hips Dance with the wind when you walk. No, it is not the anticipated fresh-scented Whiff of intimacy that steams From your secret region down south That has brought me to my knees. It is that one thing, nameless as it were, Which no one can take away from you; That special thing; That thing That makes you throw caution to the wind.