Poetry on Love

walk by my street and whistle
amma leave my boiling pot of of soup running your way

i think that you have a wind of your own
because it turns me around like the dancing leaves in the fall

i don’t know what to do with your eyes
it has a warmness that soothes my goosebumps

you have this thing with your palms
holding me is your own bondage because I am going nowhere

forget the lighted italian restaurant
an afternoon nap in the island of your arms is my preference

i don’t mean to compete with king solomon
but your love is a finer fine wine

favour emeakama
October 30. 2017