ENOCH AANU OJOTISA


In Your Arms Again.

Truly I am no different from the other.
But you shaped me like a porter;
You raised my eyes to yours in the night of mood;
Though the day was crude;
For only a saint might have conquered that hour,
The hour of a woman's power…
That it might come to past,
So we glued our tongues to last.
But what profit has it brought?

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