How do I tell? – a poem by McDennias H. Moyo

How do I tell?

How do I tell my feet to change direction?
When I always find myself making my way to you
I can only blame my heart, a broken campus
Debilitatingly, it continues to fight and resist change

How do I tell my lips not to pine for yours?
When I find all other lips unpalatable
Why did they have to be so smooth & sumptuous?
Their deliciousness knocks my taste buds dead with sweetness

How do I tell my fingers that they will never run through your hair again?
Yet they had memorized every inch of your frame
They know not how to please another
How loyal of them to reserve their pleasures only for you

How do I tell my mind not to think of you?
Yet my toes still curl at the thought of our escapades behind closed doors
I daydream about what once was
And into a trance I’m thrown by the prospect of our future romantic adventures together

How do I tell my heart to not beat for you?
When it had mastered the rhythm & melody of our love
It pulsates & palpitates at the sight of you
I find myself melting and your love keeps everything in perspective

How do I tell my life not to fall apart?
When you threaten to remove yourself as the glue that pieces it together
I’m conditioned to love you with my all
You are my prison and I’m your happy captive!

By McDennias H. Moyo
# McDeePoetry2020
©McDennias H. Moyo🇿🇼

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to McDennias H. Moyo and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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Published by McDennias H. Moyo

Philosophy through poetry

4 thoughts on “How do I tell? – a poem by McDennias H. Moyo

  1. Let it fall apart, brother. Don’t fear that sort of death.
    I’ve been dying it again and again and I only get better, have more and more of myself to enjoy and to offer (and my poetry seems to be getting better too, thankfully).
    If someone is your glue, then they aren’t their own container, and neither are you. What then can you give each other? That image in this poem echoes an image in one of mine. That poem is called “source.”
    All the best, thanks for clicking on my blog. Even more thanks if you actually read any of it. I’ll check out more of yours perhaps, I’m also interested in poetry and philosophy.

    Liked by 1 person

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