your sleeping head
and feel my fingers quarrel with your hair
so heavy, so thick and strong
growing from warm curly, curly roots
into finger thick ropes of your Covenant.
Feathered ebony wings
swoop over your eyes
urging my touch to question this beauty,
and I do
smiling at the knowledge of not disturbing
your dance of suspended consciousness
to check that you are really here.
Cinnamon acres of minimal flesh stretch
across your face
now rested in the sleep of satisfaction
making you look so defenceless
that my heart cries out to shelter you
to protect you.
You have no idea of the power
that my maternal instincts possess
and so I watch over you
about the various avenues I have followed
to reach this moment in time
and you still seem to be unaware
of the strength
of My Essense
that makes me the woman that I am.
Watching you in your private world
reminds me of how you were when we first met
but you still defy the march of time.
Maybe you are charmed in that respect
but my worries have worn down my youthful glamour
and what you see sometimes
is the result of some serious mental plastic surgery.
Where are you now
What are you doing
and most importantly
Who Are You With
I ask myself and
God help you
if you should slip
and call out a name,
other than my own.
IN AN INSTANT
this peaceful scene would be swept away
by the cold flush of Doubt
followed by the heat of Revenge
and in your weakened condition
you would stand no chance against
then you stir and turn
leaving an intimate shoulder bare
and a warm space to snuggle into
and I do
weaving hopes and dreams
Imani c 1995