HIS FEVER

It is the way he looks,

Must be the way he walks,

It is the way he sings,

Must be the way he talks

On as second thought, it is everything.

The sparkles in the eyes of his sweat,

The bright calling in his glowing eyes,

The assurance of security in the words of his breast

That walk that tell tales of filling the drum of my confidence

The smile of grace which breaks the nerves of my determined enemy,

The cradle hands which sings songs of cradling to uproot the roots of all my nightmares

The very comfortable pillowed chest which promises nights of peaceful rest

Those strong legs which promise to catch my fall no matter the distance

It is the whole set which sets me ablaze

In the spicy soup of love forever,

In the cooking pot of merged souls,

We share this fever no matter the distance.

    Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014.