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Tales Of A Wife: Eleven (11)

I just wish I could dial
A number before I die
To resay words that weren’t white-lie
No lie we really were suit and tie.

Questions asked years ago; today ten
Just got solved; wish I had a clue then
To know the number next after ten
Is doubled, always together: I and Ann…

I just wish I could dial
A number before I die
To resay words that weren’t white-lie
The lips may not say; the heart never lie.

It was Friday night, a drink and Ann questions
What are your long and short term goals?
I wrapped it all off without her in situations
She smiled: guessed right, wrong answers.

I just wish I dialed
Anns’ number before love died
To rephrase words that made her smile depressed
Teamwork makes the dream work; I would have said.

Tempest

Perfume, once our odour;
Halitosis now our special logo,
Could remember in a mo’
Like five seconds ago,
Our love flowed in streams like heamo:
Affection and halo
In our memo
Grew like crop on some Guano,
Now we lip-sync to an earful piano
Complaining like we weren’t alter-ego
Strings to Cello,
Peace has gone loco.
Beneath our gruff and super-ego
Is the tempest in love.

By Onyeche Vincent Onyeka
(c) 2011
https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com

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