Kainalu

It's been a long time since poetry has flowed from the tip of this pen to doth the proverbial paper. My vocabulary may not adequately traverse the divide, linking our minds through prose, yet to try not is to not try, and therefore I must. Margaret,  your whisper moves through the air; her brow, one dollop of sweat, and the other, fervor. Mandingo waits in the corner.  Three apricots. Move. Thank you. It's been a long time since I've poetried. Kainalu's music has that kind of effect on you, ya know?