Dua
Dua
You know my needs, wants, and desires way better than I could possibly articulate. Yet, I feel like being expressive on this platform, for the sake of the audience.
Please remove the veil between she and I, as I am more than “finally ready” for her; I’m in desperate need. My right side is cold these days. The warrior spirit in me isn’t enough anymore. Spring and summer has come and gone, and my autumn has arrived, with bone scraping breezes.
Please make her excessively clingy, in a way that would have driven the immature version of me completely mad. I need that now. I need her face—a lot. I need her to block my path, arresting me, until she gets her kiss, that energy exchange on two sets of lips. I need her to text me multiple times per day, just to get on my nerves—to make me feel like she has me on her mind.
I need her to understand that my size and strength exist to protect a very vulnerable nerd, conditioned early on by an environment of scorn. That way she’ll understand why this big arm pulls her in tight every time an ambulance rolls by at night.
You know I need contact. Please make her okay with that. It’s even better if she demands it, making me beg for a break. May our weekends at home feature gliding palms, and shiny skin from cocoa and Shea, glowing under flickering candles.
Can she be a lover of books—knowledge—rhetoric—history? I would love lively exchanges on subjects of our history.
I know I am asking a lot, for a man with no bag, overspilling with gold shilling. Allah, I wouldn’t dare try to cross her up, if that’s on her list. Allah if I have value please reveal it to her, and assign us “to be”.
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