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Aug 312012
 

by Chinedu Icha

 

Words he spoke were right

An interlock of saline flesh

Erupts passion that knows no bounds

Crooked marks trail after your finger tip

Awakens a story

Too sweet to remember

Salt on our skin… plenty to go round

Bone of my bone

Yet you sound so alone

Let’s meet at the tongue of still warm waters

A place only at least somebody must go

I guess her heart would

We shall lay and multiply

We shall set sail

We shall never forget.