Papa once whispered into my life
That really, patience is a virtue
And indeed, in trusting one’s instincts,
Therein lies an overwhelming flex
I firmly gripped onto the archaic syllables
And watched them gently drive me insane
As a maniac,

The thought of her brought me everlasting smiles
Upon having an infectious view of the rose
I was slowly turning into a deaf-mute
For she instantly became my divine instinct
I neither visualised nor conversed with anyone else
I hardly reckoned the presence of their curves
For none of them surpassed her femininity
And because of that, this I make mention
That in as much as her beauty flows past her makeup,
While gases still pump through my two vents
And my eyes find pleasure blinking in front of her
I’m telling you,
Hardly will I be convinced that below heavens lies her contestant
Let alone,
To seize lying in wait for the matrimonial sacred seven.