The merlot on my tongue
won’t allow me to speak.
I stain my pillow with attached prayers of something
better
betwixt the Ghana of my mane.
Afraid,
I walk with a cane looped to my belt to beat a fall
design distance from cerebral lessons
fear wrestling.
I wear tight shoes to ensure carefully calculated steps
abandon spontaneity
and disavow chances and dances with love.
taken from the book:
Get your autographed copy here
Advertisements
I like!
Very deep