In sharp swords we wrote love songs
In hopes we meet our pen pals.
Picture gotten from-PinInterest
Wailing and jumping in tiny wood homes
The kind of music that rips the heart apart.
Every mermaids’ kind of light
whether true or not, it’s right.
historians that kept epistles, lost tales with unending humour?
Time was an exchange, in pleasing rates.
I’d like to be a salmon for a day
I’d like to swim someday
Send voice notes to prominent men
In preparation for the great deal of rain
Hovering around parks to find girls that lie and write
we did become some and not all,
we lost the moon while counting their feet.
Write me these kind of poems,
remind me how stubborn I can be.
Paint every word of yours with the memories that weren’t meant to be,
so I can make one more wish.
My ink just ran out.
Incomplete makes me, what does you?
Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.