The Last Chapter Of Desire Poem by Patrick Monamodi

O Woman,
Book of hidden wisdom,
Volume wrapped in velvet dusk,
Keeper of unwritten songs.

And I,
a humble pen of wandering ink,
stood before your pages trembling,
for every chapter demanded reverence.

When destiny opened your leaves,
my ink found its purpose.
Not to mark,
but to celebrate;
not to possess,
but to compose.

Thus was born a poem—
a river of verses flowing between us,
your pages receiving,
my pen answering,
until love itself became literature.