The 1st of September, heart awaits

August, windy and dusty, 30 days to her being

The grass  will rise in its short gesture and faithfully green ,the sun will rise,the birds will sing and it shall rain

Flowers blossom to their best ability

My soul trembles with love and tears welling up my eyes

I sense the peace maker, my 30 year old lady (baby girl)

Questions are asked,

I asked a question, human beings answers

My heart asks, my soul asks, my spirit asks, and God answers

The universe cries out, i felt the lips of the Universe calling out my name

I responded, ke Setlogano

Nature will pay you a visit,

What, when, how, why

Spring will pay your mother a visit

The 1st of September will be

Mother will give birth to a baby girl

Because you are the Chosen One






A Faded Romantic's Notebook


He knows her eyes from her photographs.

He is lost in them.

In a number of the treasured images they are open and smiling. In others they are mysterious and brooding. Sometimes they smoulder. In one or two they are soft and vulnerable. These touch him deeply.
He has no vocabulary to describe the colour – and besides – it is not constant. They are molasses, and coffee, and cinnamon and toasted biscuits and burnt caramel and dark, amber honey.
They remind him of newly born, shining chestnuts, freshly emerged from their creamy skins.
Her eyes make him think of gorgeous, golden, gleaming antique wood, of raw opium, and of rich, crafted, leather.
And of looking deep into her soul while he slowly, tenderly, expertly caresses her perfect body with long, elegant, sensitive fingers.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
I do…

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