A Sunday in February and I man rock these keys.

Bring atmosphere's and degrees to the mentally diseased.

(THE CONUNDRUM)

We are the children of a dead star.

Falling from the heavens at magnificent speed.

We these extensions of universal need.

Born and formed we glanced into each other's eyes.

No word for what we felt, just raw primitive emotion.

One touch and I man knew, I would die for you.

Modern times and I in wonder contemplate you.

Your form the basis for my beginnings, I swept along on your sway.

The beats, oh these beats of my heart, I aching for you.

My marrow calling from my bones, brain on drain.

One touch and I, I might explode, spray cream in my dreams.

What a luscious notion, the thought of I inside.

Majestically we ride, moon rising, oceans subsiding.

I Hue-man lost in the emotions, I listening to your sighs.

Once we light traveled in space, shrieking to earth are we found.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY