Tide 24 (For Victoria Madu)

Tethered to Dionysius homestead; acquaintance
You have surfed consistently this
aqueous dance; sweet sour sand dunes
April broke our tryst
Culinary scented, gushing mirth -
No other bard can tell better...
Only but your surf board; Basquiat's dirty classic
A collage of distinctly honed virtues, horn locked with ephemeral gains like untamed Ibexes on heat
There is a smile on the lips of the rivers, luring windy dances, evident upon mother earth's gyrating green follicle flames
Your essence is her joyful curving lips.
Only the ears that have groped curiosity
eyes that cut faster than the scalpel of amadioha's bolts
like the midnight curtain torn by pleasurable moans escaping untamed lips
shall applaud your imbued resilience
by churning few seconds of tete a tete; served honestly
Hercules is a molten diet in those veins
The lioness nursing after fight lacerations should cast a gaze at a smiling competitor
Our rinds mesh; perhaps sumptuously seasoned
a tale in the uterus of unmade morrows
The landfall of this tide, I dictate
a simultaneous extension of parallel dots -
Running aground bleak crows of vague hopeful dawns
Deluging those eyes with trickling joy...