Profundity of Serendipity

These city walls with cracks for ears and polished windows for eyes.
They know.
They know how the cobble stone massages the soles of our feet when our eyes meet eyes.
They see.
They see how gin and cigarettes become incense to awaken desire of an otherwise lost mind.
They feel.
They feel how my heart pounds when your grizzly beard captures the shining light of my soul before it rubs the nape of my neck when our breathing is in synchronicity.
They move.
They move mountains into the distance to allow us for a moment to become wonders of nature in this space and time.
I am slowly sipping every thought that is evaporating in the heat of these narrow streets that have become living testimony that serendipity also does fall in favour of lost souls.
My heart is learning to see with your eyes that have travelled the terrain of my cocoa buttered skin that craves touch from your unbridled cigarette tinged fingers.
Our souls play tag with the wispy tangerine shoreline of the Atlantic at dusk.
We are passion drenched to the point of forgetting how mortal we truly are.
Let us not die before we live.
Let us not fear pain that sometimes bridles passion.
The girths of our hearts are emblazoned with scars that will never heal but grow us.
We are tenacious in our weakness in a world that has loved us little and yet we have given our very souls to exist in it.
I am afraid to lose grip of your hand when you push me away. I never want to let go. I never want to have to let go.
Let me stay, now that I have found you.
You are the brightness of my every moment.
You have my every breath in a glass jar like fireflies that light up a crisp-cold room on an autumn evening.
Cup my face in your rough hands and tell me that I will never walk alone.
I will believe every syllable.

Frank Malaba © 2015