Evening's fog is due, Mi amor,
As it always is on the fourteenth of the second,
When the wind feels like the milky way to an astrologer,
And the galaxies are at the fingertips of our minds.
Under the eventide our ardor thrives undefeated
And your eyes rid the horizon of its subtle luster.
Here, we trade ourselves for desire to consume,
Watching the moonlight creep between our cravings.
And as sure as escapades are but tonight,
Our cravings enrage from within,
Setting a plane for two hopeless romantics,
And I, starving for what's about to set in.
So we fall in, unraveling every cover
And untangling every strand that seeks to bind:
Your love is a switchblade before the release
And may this body be carved until it bleeds.
©Maymunah Kadiri
©Samuel Adeyemi
? ? lovely
am3mm10@ptsolest