By Kamaria Muntu
26 May 2012, 14:13 GMT

 

There is an outline upon a yonder hill

at night beneath the moon’s sated blush

speckles of lunar dust configure to flesh

and I vision you in my weariness, in my

hallelujah times, in my saddest of breaths

In turn and in time, with each eclipse of lint

paper bag, thermal rain and unsorted life

I induce constellations as I slide down your contralto

and up again to expanses opening green havens of scented palms

This blast, torch of life brings up from the soul a heat, prancing plumes

of midnight feathers locked in antiquity, arriving in the candle’s

flickering sway, the blazing peacock light enumerating stars, so many stars…

to which the big silky legs open, swallow the iris of sound

say

I wouldn’t have dreamed this particular dream without you

_____________________________________________________________

Kamaria Muntu is a poet, writer and Black Feminist..