Beauty and meaning, one love, two lovers,
a Paris pair, just flailing, just pouring
out lymphatic rains as the wind hovers
and the light lingers – the sun is soaring:
No, the sun is foreign – oriental
eyes my thoughts under the African sun
not native to the alien mental
frameworks and shop windows shaming 'the One':
I hope one day that the sands turned to streets
and said, "Hey, brothers, we cannot be beat
under the martial parade's two-bit beats,
or by the glass that cuts us from pained feet:
Penitence, Pertinence, pay attention
to pluvial passersby's Prevention.
urbansonnets 