I have thrown away
The ramshackle of your hesitant love
Alongside your party-hopping
To the cistern store of yesterday
That you are gone
Is beyond any texture of my desire
Beyond any sound of a violin
Beyond the surface of your pretty face
You will be found in the peasantry of my words
Dutifully cleaning the dance floor of our dreams
So, go further to the conjugations of want
And feel the new touch of a poet
Who revels in my eulogy
Without the knowledge of my participation
In fermenting a weak spot for his kind
And to the grandiosity of a maple
Whenever you remember, hit metal objects
To chase away the devilish apparition of me
And stop my return inside your heart
Like the African folklore of new beginnings
Not as superstition but as moving ahead.
