Windmill… Poem by Merlin Mwaura

Across this heaven bound hills…
Lie naked souls under the sun’s skill.
Truly betrothed, this coupled pair
Relish adjacent to a clumsy bug,
She goes by the name ladybird…red an’ blacks her natural garment.

Indeed this joyful two, are one in all…
For you see, of the adolescent tend,
Adhered to a carpety green, ‘tis their song they sing…
A romance they bring,
And urgently proceed…
To a beautiful performance, theirs’ no dream.

Along down that same hill,
The wind called by the lovers’ scenes,
Scurries uphill and finds their skins…
A chocolate mesh with here vivid silk.

The wind so generous, to arouse more skin,
Proceeds to carry their budding whiffs…
Their mating scent, on to dear old windmill
Delighted he must be…

Windmill, he is come of wood…
Trees so vast, his wings do breath,
Ever faster, quicker in his gestures…
To savor the tunes of thy feminine mourn.
For even he, tangle with the wind,
Like the young master with his bride…
Their thighs command a perfected art.

His timber creeks, as if drawing her near,
The wind peeks, her whistle so clear.
While he hums a hushed endearing charm…
As the coupled pair look to the skies,
Claiming their perfected, thunderous chorus…
For they love like the windmill….
As the hill’s concern,
To reach there heaven an’ be at one.