Arise,
to the quiet sweeps of fingers
strolling across the forearm boulevard
gentle whirlwinds of increasing diameter;
“Morning.”
The imposing stance of a Quebracho,
a fine piece of timber.
Quality response,
to match that vocal timbre.
Entrancing scents of Black Opium,
silhouettes skirted by shadows;
together,
dancing into the still of the night.
Celestial bodies perfectly align;
the tides are right
and off her chariot of fire,
she gracefully alights.
“A good morning to you too.”
Fimishola-Samuel
2/19/2021
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