Bring the calabashes, pots, jerry cans, and buckets.
Bring your sadness, happiness, and desires too.
Pack some mangoes and bananas to keep you sweet,
for I cannot stand it when your stomach moans bitterly.

Do not bring words, for I seek your silent language.
Let us meet at the confluence of my chest valley.
Take the dusty road to my heart and greet capillaries
and ducts toiling in the boughs to feed me with life.
Hail the two mountains with a kiss and silent prayer:
I greet you for carrying oceans on land.

Your mouth must not miss smiling at the passing age;
young or old, they all deserve the calm from your lips.
When they ask, “Where are you going this early morning?”
tell them you must meet a river that flows in the dry season.

Your hands will be full of equipment – it is intentional.
I will be jealous if you touch every reed you meet.
There will be other tributaries and channels along the way.
For land’s sake, do not disclose where our meeting mouth is;
I dislike alluvium surprises from unplanned flooding of love.

I miss your teases in the swirls and ripples of thrown pebbles.
I cannot wait to shock your blood before dipping into me.
I love your chest branches when lifting the carrying pole
and I try not to mourn, knowing you carry part of me with you.

This time, do forget one of the buckets for a second return.
See you soon, my love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Mo on Unsplash