“What’s up?”, “Nothing much,” I replied,
We’ve lost touch, haven’t spoken much since July,
I want to fuss, look around and cuss, but my mind declines,
You’ve been good I trust, I’m no longer feeling that thirst, once so blind.
I diligently searched, and as such, was surprised not to find,
A hint of my musk, or even a shirt, left behind,
It seems you have cursed, or buried in the dirt, all that was mine,
Clearly here is my drop from first, my lips I purse, I brace for the decline.
The temerity lingering in your every word,
Shared your identity with this crooked world,
I could argue your integrity and spin and swirl,
But no nicety could fool us all,
Yours is a frightening spell you see, and away from thee we must crawl.
We fuss and we fight about such and such,
And so you’ve earned the right to match your match,
But while we toss and turn at night, having nightmares much too much,
We should be making love and dreaming of heart to hearts.
Yours in perpetuity,
Evans Mbora Campbell.