I am phenomenal

The way your buttons arrest your collar.  Make me want to slit my wrist. They know their way as much as I do. Enchanting me to tell them stories you would never do. 

My lover is written in my every skin. He’s a honeycomb all vanilla filled… You won’t touch him you won’t see him. But bees fly to their beehive; forming planes or arrows towards my silent lips.

Don’t blame me if my lips are red with love. 

It’s not a Sin to give them a soft touch.

But whether you go with me or not

Take the grand party or not 

Believe til you don’t or not 

I know my way in the street called love. 

To the half-hearted you; I’m quite sorry for.

Because it’s wiser for the wise not to swim with their hearts offshore. 

The ladies they ask me. Why?

But 

I say it’s not in the colorful face you show; not in the money you make. 

It’s in the warmth of my palm, the span of my hips and the grace of my breast and a smile that does not break. Yes, that makes me phenomenal. 

Men they wonder just as how dreams make the wind-chime sing. And they ask, why?

So I tell them.

It’s not in the sound of my stilettos or the wave of my skirt. Not in my pretty face or in my glowing fingernails. 

It’s in the fullness of my bosom, the arch of my back, the catch of my arms and the comfort of my voice. Yes, that makes me phenomenal. 

This world overflows with nooks and alleys.

So am I.

A woman who holds so much secrecy that even men can’t follow my mystery.

But whether you parachute with me or not 

Whether you take the rough roads with me or not 

Whether you venture with me or not 

I know my way in this job called love. 

To the man you are, who killed your faith in love, I am truly sorry for..

Because you’ll only be left asking why you don’t hear her fragile cries at night and the sad song she becomes. 

Don’t ask me to analyze me.

I’m a petal that does not open in wry. 

I’m not interested in the subjects of the mind for your autumn fights 

I burn on my own with passion, I dance with my own tune. But I’ve got eyes like the vultures that see through your vilest trot.

I don’t make ecstacy; I live with it. I don’t wait for the coming seasons; I play every brush of them. I don’t wait for your mind to change; you make it work yourself. 

Be your own phenomenal man.

When you’re ready for the hunt, ready for the kill, and ready for building bridges in between dawn, I’m here.

Always nurturing my own phenomenal woman; ready to interlock yours. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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