It’s not a place I can paint
Neither one tainted with hate
Freely I go in and leave, no wait
The breeze blows the leaves in haste
Sea wind rushing through my hair
Alone, yet not. A game so hot
I hear you loud, “it’s not fair!”
Feverish fingers trace hidden spots
I flee, but all it says is “Come with me!
There are places we need to breach.”
It’s a place I exhale and I’m free
As long as you are within arm’s reach!
©2016. Frances Kelvin Otung. All rights reserved
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