Impression 

From the word go, it wafted in

like a sweet citrus scent of satsuma,

mingling with the fresh aroma of September 

in the park. A gentle touch of her hand

felt velvety against mine. There was a note 

of amusement in her voice. And again

her warm voice, with its charming lilt sang out 

a beautiful melody before me like a bird

as the milieu faded a tender moment remained,

the promise in the luminous jewel,

and a gentle rustles of leaves in the breeze.

As I breathe it in, my eyes haft closed

and a lidded look of satisfaction washed over me,

but the loveliness of our love drew me in,

like a black grape allure, I couldn’t resist its pull,

but behind a façade of a sweet romance, an unsweetened 

truth awaited, salting my sweet expectations. 

My Old Flame

Beloved, you are the sweetness,

of roasted sweet potato, my favourite 

comfort food on the table for two

like a tender shoots that unfurl

before the morning sun

a propitious time for a new dawn.

I lace my fingers behind my head,

arid lips curled into a smile of hunger,

yearning for a peck that lasts

not just a fleeting lust.

A warmth that spread throughout my body

a moment savored, a whistle of contentment 

where a sense of weightless overflows

like cascade, a perfect smooch 

crafted just for you. 

A Breath of Music

No more three-dog nights, 

watch the veld in spring 

through the eyes of the wild iris.

Thanks to its bright, pleasant colours 

its beauty is as if held in amber.

No silence here, only zephyr for music-lovers

to drink in the sounds of dawn.

The presence of trees, not as a forest,

break the silence, make the day 

as green as red grass, listen to the gentle wind

through the leaves. No cold spell,

only a breath of music, a sound of olive branch

its tempo, somewhere between largo and andante.

Every sparrow in the veld can hear my happiness

blaring, as my heart waltz to the cadence

of breeze. No words, I comprehend 

what is being whispered , which is jazz

to my ears, I am here, Can you hear

a mass choir of reeds singing in the valleys,

seeking to arrest my undivided attention?