Am I not drunk

With your scintillating words

Flowing like the river of Babylon

enticing every beautiful piece of me

Am I not lost

In chaste of your beauty

In the veil of your sheen visage

Glowing like the shooting star

Am I not the forebear of bachelors

Who swore to never fall

But fell like the wall of Jericho

On the template of your loving soul

Am I not with my senses

When you took off my lenses

To have a lips to lips ride

On the pale road in-between the bridge

To the end, where pink hops on grey 

Am I not the broken soul

the banjaxed

the ruptured

You picked and fixed anew?

© Damilare David

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