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  • kwabenagyane

I'm Not The Jealous Type

Your soft lips leave mine and you're soon out the door

Always looking back, your eyes finding a way to make brown feel blue

Off to the car, you'll probably get there by four

Of course you already have your answers in a queue

Explanations gifted with the ability to bore

Lulling each question to prevent the awakening of "with who?"

It's a perfected process, no need to practice; it's been done before

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And I'm not the jealous type, I will never ask for more

So I tend not to imagine your lips working with the same intensity on another; as if that makes it any less true.

Teeth on wet, silken skin; colouring your body in the shades of desire

You're marked, but you're not mine

And with each pulse comes a crescendo, louder and higher

Only a fraction achieved at home, you say, with a careless concoction of beer, vodka and wine

Fingertips drenched in familiarity find warm openings, turning candle heat into bodily fire

Mouths swallowing several sighs, screams and the occasional whine

Hands finding their place on necks like accustomed attire

Moments like these make heaven look less divine

And I'm not the jealous type, I'm the other but I'm also a liar

When I say, while engulfed by your enamoured eyes, that simply this, is fine.

Your whispers, verbal cushions, make cosy seats for the ears

Gelantinizing into sweetmeats when our tongues meet

A confetti of colours paint the walls whenever we speak; splashes of dreams and splotches of fears

What we have here is not just a moment's heat

I'm your refuge from the clouds of domiciliary airs

You're my miracle, injecting life with something sweet

I know it could be tomorrow, in a month or two years

An abeyance or the termination; one of them could be the interloper we may have to greet

And I'm not the jealous type, even if I hate that we must stay in separate social spheres

To converse, to copulate, to embrace, to gaze, to maintain this bliss; our love needs no audience to be complete.

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