Sunken
Sunken- Margaret Chinaza-Ada
My eyes closed at the scaly, lean arms wrapped around my neck. It was Her.
Her presence burrowed moments that yielded in my farthest futures,
Moments unseen but felt by my present. Her was contradictory.
Sweet and Salty.
Pigmented blue tone, absent pupils, and red-hued lip.
It was an abyss, Her presence with me. One I readily fell into.
Her was devoid of love as she withered.
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Those sunken eyes sought me not,
Skin — cold, soulless, gray, and frosty.
And when Her pupils returned, they saw me not.
Her soul sought mine not.
What remained was a reminiscence of a past that bore no promise of the future I envisioned.
It returned a promise of Her absence.
I remained on her trails on sands, faded footprints on wet gray mud searching for moments before I knew Her.
To recall what I was.
Her visits once a year, in the company of violent storms that tear my roof and flood my floors — drowning furniture, a fell wall, but I sit in calm.
Devoid of reasoning and life.
Awaiting the next storm.
