Ocean face, back
To the ground,
Toes curled to the
afternoon sun
Like a protest
placard
With your soul, and
dainty hands
In your pocket of
fluke,
Dukedom lives in
your
Sun-smooched hair,
Your life is
anarchy;
No doleful-bringing
amends
Or capital lettered
postcards
From peculiar
corners,
Sun berry eyes in
the twinkle
Of nights first ever
known star;
Your gaze sets all
of velvety,
And regal
manufactured paradise, ablaze.
You’re folk art,
writhing- the folk dance,
Prancing about as a
Lady cat
With your crowned
tail haloed
By the gyre of the
firefly beetles
Wheedled by bliss to
skylark,
In the honey-coated
moonlight,
Laughing as a
tickled serpent,
With your clouds of
ripened joy,
Becoming the home in
which you will stay.
© Raeez Jacobs. 2012. All Rights Reserved.
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