I’m storing my feelings in a cauldron.
Stashing my thoughts in rhythmic patterns
of beats and vibrations, art, colors and verse,
of lyrics and poetry for a man whose presence
tells a story- a hue too complex to mention.
Flesh of my flesh, a piece of his rib.
Muscle that beats to a combined rhythm
resonating to my desired algorithm.
A man who appreciates inner beauty and would
see through my external facade, rising above
stereotypes and societal labels to love me for
who i am. Without seeking perfection,
understanding that i am only human
and that facial beauty fades over time.
A man who would still hold my hand when my bones
get weary, narrow and depleted – rising up to catch
me when i fall, directing me through my clumsy steps.
Being my eyes when my vision fails, holding my hand
easing distance, showing me the light.
My own visual lens through the dark, cold world.
Directing my path, safe from puddles to ease the hurdles.
A man who would still run his fingers through my hair
when my nappy strands have lost texture, color and luster
and my hair line has receded imitating the look of an old
Voodoo Queen living in the mountains.
Loving me all the while, making love to those strands,
appreciating the greys that come with aging gracefully.
A man who would still hunger for me like a ripened fruit
when the soil in my garden lies barren- and my skin is
filled with wrinkles, aging spots and freckles.
Treasure the withered rose, deriving pleasure all the while
Lust still with diminishing vigor and youth…
Kiss me like it was the first time;
deriving joy in bliss, relinquishing memories of our youth.
A man who would be my memory card through the years
when my brain reeks of mental impotence.
Like a sharpened pencil, quick to rise through scribbles
on parchments of paper- and i will be his resplendent ability.
My own blissful haven between reality and the flowing
absurdity that comes with age.
Being my man all the while,
appreciating the changes that come with age,
struggles that come with keeping our fire burning.
Loving me, seething for me…
A man who understands being human,
and that we are all prone to make mistakes-
maturity manifested in handling disagreements
strength in hardships, stashing his ego.
The importance of forgiveness,
and the relevance of communication.
For this man -I’d be his Woman,
Respect and love him till his knees grow weak,
his teeth start falling out, his sight fails – tolerating
him when he gets grumpy, for old age has its perks.
His soft cushion hugs through the cold
His comfort and strength when everything is old-
As his lover and friend; woman, wife, Queen –
Catering to him still…
Listening to his wisdom…
Appreciating him still…
Staying loyal to him-
Making love to him
Hustler to his needs
Lover for life
Soldier to the end.