The April Sun

The shallow tears from scars now healing,

and the forgotten fragrance on tested nostrils,

now back.

The last episode of a never ending story,

or the sunken shoulders from a head so heavy,

in debt.

The slippery grip on a moistened skin,

with the silent moans from a groaning man,

that taste.

The warm December nights on hills so gentle,

or fresh yellow rays from the April sun,

will sing.

The melting taste of dark chocolate,

her simmering gaze and many lessons,

or fate.

It is these that bind the soul of a man,

Sounds of a furnace in a woman's heart, 

on Fire.

* * *

Est.Mok, Jan.3.2019, Nairobi