Burning Love Notes

To the girl I will never see again.

I saw you and lost track of my train of thought. The city lay dead. No lights flickered except cigarette ends. No life except the rejects of the system slaving under the street lights, wasting in
the cold.

My heart wings flapped – twice. My soul eyelids blinked. The thuds of your cosmic footfalls blinded my wandering eyeballs. For months, I had sought a breath giver from the deep of non-being. Then echoes of your angelic aura put you on a pedestal and,
ruffled my
cold feathers.

The in-TELL-gence of (y)our conversation. World politics, genetics, Nietzsche’s nihilism and how he died of brain dis-ease. Like, what are the odds that Adolf & Stalin are in paradise since love doesn’t judge? I remember you saying, “I don’t believe in God but when mama kneels to pray for me
I cry.”

Any other Kenyan girl would have asked me about my age, tribe, job, salary, a 5-year plan, and the last episode of Game of Thrones but you, you looked beyond the ego –the shell we call ‘human’. If brains had lips, I would have
French-kissed
your conscience.

Wide smile, owl-eyed. A slave to your words I became. When you whispered, your breath became the back of my hand: I had known you for life. Lost in the moment, my eyes begged,
“Save me from love & its sad poems”. Your mouth
yielded and
we______

No – I touched god with my tongue. The elixir of your dribble healed my lips. Changed my wounds and scars into energy portals. Your poetry rooted me to the ground. I spun,
lost myself in
the fountain.

I wanted the world under my feet as a staircase to reach you. If you got any more miracles for sale, I’d trade my soul for every freckle on your _____. But where are you when I
make love to
your imagination?

Quixotic reminiscences ain’t nothing but burning love notes and the sunset is the witness. A moth, I am a slave
to your
dying flame.

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