She gently touches my weedless pate
Knowing it is my passion’s gate
Testing my very strong fate
In what may be a tasteless bait
I hold my own trying to let it abate
She keeps going making me say Kate.
Her name rises tingly passion’s hate
And forces me to like the goat mate
My head fries in a dilemmaic oil state
My heart burns crushing the date
You deserve some gifts on your birth date
You stand in the middle and refuse your mate?
I close my eyes only to wake unclothed in fatty arms, it’s too late.
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.