I believed I could
stretch a dream
from surreal beginning
to surreal end.
She is a Montreal
midnight, bright,
exotic, with eyes
the color of a high-
way constellation
we pass inhaling
Canadian haze.
I touch her flesh
with my mental
fingertips hoping
to cross ancestries,
an African-Chinese bop
for the ages, a celestial
pulse vibrating beneath
our skins with
expansive, feathery
wings. I smell her
reluctance, a feminine
defense mechanism
for sun-worshippers,
rebels with heaven's
residue on their
lips, and Genesis
in their hands.
(c)Synnika Lofton
from The Burden and the Gift, Vol 3
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