Losing It Poem by Ahmed Maiwada

The archangel of love's archenemy   
whisks me, a fly, like a rocket tail.
The wheeled spirit rolls me from
  you; shares a chilled sea between
Us - flamed earths that we are blown  
 off. My passage swift; I, a dashing
Second, past you, the fast hour  
 mark; the dasher knowing he will
Return. Here, emotions gush in
  torrents. But it's swimming,
and I'm a swimmerer: your face is the   
only feeling I see down the dark
Throat of our foe. I, you turn his   
weapon; stab him in the back thus
Stretched. You're the rice of passage;
  I, the throat in waiting. I see you
And you see me, statue, my arms   
the tar roundabout you: solitude
A crushed calabash still around us.