Celestine Ikwuamaesi Poet Free verse

The Bosom

The well runs deep, 
       of water and fire; 
your bosom, warm as summer. 
       I pant. 
       A suckling, 
to quench my thirst, I pine, 
                          come for passion.

Where is fountain sweet and soothing 
        than in the desert, 
        when the blues frown, stripped of foliage? 
Where does safety anchor in whirling waters 
                     but in the rock?

I craved a shoulder; 
         found your open arms, 
                  dripping sweat and blood. 
         My pain! 
All gone,  
             my head hit your bosom 
and struck a refreshing refrain:

Come to me, all who labor
        and are heavy laden,
        I will give you rest.

      
© 2016 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi

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