TOUCHED

Under starful skies
With many my mindless sighs
And many a boozing sessions
He looked into my eyes
Touched my cold cheeks like his goddess
And with a strained voice
Confessed
“I love you a bit tipsy
I see no building of intimidation
Which craves for bombs and guns to break
I can come close to touch
Without a missile from your iris
And fire from your pupils
And I don’t have to watch my words
How can a very little being posses such power
To make me shiver and love to roll on a river
No matter my quiver?”
He might have thought me drunk
To be that bold to say
Such words which crash the male ego
Being the first coming from one so matured and exposed
I let him win
By pating him on the back
Like the lost son who just returned
For above all his aim to please
This is the one night he succeeded
Thinking me in my drunken stupor
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015