The sun sneaks in
through the southern window,
unrolling a smoky golden beam
over your soft, bare shoulder,
and brushing a warm kiss upon
your velvet cheek.
My eyes drink heavily
of your sleeping loveliness.
To awaken to your face
is like to wake into a dream,
a beautiful reverie
of feminine magic.
Would that I could always
wake this way!
My trembling hands
cannot stay themselves;
I reach for you,
caress your skin,
your hair,
your face,
your lips.
Your lovely eyes open
and capture me with their light.
Long, black lashes beckon
for my soul to entangle itself
in their web,
and willingly,
it would do so.
My darling,
let me take my breakfast
from your lips!
Today, tomorrow,
and always.
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
Be always safe,
Karen