after Nkosi Nkululeko

 F  E  B  R  U  A  R  Y

7- I grieve for my teenage self
    who leaned on an elder’s son.
    On Sabbath, supple knuckles brush
    in anticipation for prayer;
    hands clasped with his fingers.
    Saturdays, are for God and coincidence. 

9- An Adventist church makes itself a coincidence
     A place to discard a teenage crush and die to self.
     But two mistakes intertwine their fingers
     and bow to reflect on God sacrificing his son.
     In confidence, I utilize my prayer
     to ask for his lips to brush.
 

14-The Holy spirit’s flame lights the brush.
      They call a lover’s tragedy God’s coincidence.
      You forgot to be specific in prayer.
      Your darling’s lips contradict the self.
      The elder’s son
      Averts his eyes, releases his fingers.
 
15- Fleeting through halls with barren fingers.
      Cold shoulders meet but he retires his brush.
      Holy spirit, father and the son
      dismisses our history by coincidence.
      A soothing Psalm, distracts the self—
     release him through prayer

18- At daybreak I clammer for my cell, my prayer
      to hear his voice through fingers.
      But vibrations from confidants betrays the self.
      Tears swell, and against my cheek they brush.
      I crave his morning coincidence
      disillusioned by the elder’s son.

27- Unequally yoked to a believer’s son.
      We drift to separate sides of the altar in prayer.
      Butterflies fade, as if by coincidence.
      A grin, caused by someone else’s fingers
     our hallway filled, but with another scheduled brush.
     Travel down a different path to protect my future self

28- An elder’s son, his God, and my past self,
      fell for a merciful coincidence. His fingers
      an enticing prayer that ignited my brush.