The House Our Fathers Built, the Woman and Her Almost Husband
The heirloom, Neo-classical, Palladian, almost as old as light, was mine from conception, so, when the latchkeys were placed over Simian crease,
I put my ears to the hardwood floor, listening for the cacophony of feet.
Sometimes when God's voice goes quiet, it helps me to hear him,
strolling on the porticoes in the cool of the day. The house is never silent;
she is a loudspeaker. A floorboard once mimic the peep of a mouse,
so we found a fat cat to "me, how?" He coughed, we caught his emotions,
and we saw David Duke congratulated the supposed Moses for dividing the sea of people, Charlottesville took us back to Egypt, "the good old days." It began in a day and ended in a night; every soul seduced and sold, especially things fitted for the black market. To determine the a$$ from the elephant, we aired dirty laundry on the North Lawn, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, and wait, and wait with Stormy Daniels, we wait and watch the demand begins its revelations on Knavs' elegant grimace. Before eyes in Saudi Arabia, I once saw her slapped his senseless hand and we questioned if he had used some unseen claw to grab her by her vag1na. In her mind, she was scolding him for his turbulent ways that caused bags under her smokey gray eyes. At night, she applies the Enswell, the eye iron, or go missing for days, then she would return, at his side, almost, ... watching his antics like a sophisticated woman. She is robust, the trees unfold when the wind delivers their whisperings.
She is a woman, never degraded.
Ephesians 5:28 >>
"In the same way, husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself."
Copyright © Francis Brown | Year Posted 2020
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