June
Luscious legs are lathered in preparation for lavishing lava-like heat
As the jaw dropped boys stare at the smooth silky skin exposed to its sun streets
That penetrate our atmosphere in search for that perfect moment.
Those precious seconds that present a glimpse of her beauty
As the sun reflects of her neck as cupid shoots me.
But this is not sadistic or chauvinistic. Rather artistic and illogically simplistic
Her facade drives me ballistic pinching myself questioning if this is realistic.
Optimistic I am, to think she would give a damn – a boy like me who holds the nick name of elephant man.
Oh man – I’m in love. Don’t speak of Cupid with his stupid suede glove.
He fires his arrow at every girl that walks my direction.Then I ruffle my eyes, and I cry goodbye to her who just flew by but
To my surprise, another only a different size, heading my way with her own unique sway.
Left right she walks like a march but only hypnotic and the chaotic world turns erotic but in the exotic month of June – away from the robotic months that flew passed.
I now cannot be assed to pretend I’m having a blast forgetting the past but at last it’s no longer fast but vast and I am oblivious to any bomb blast because I have turned neurotic.
I call her Leila, only because I am Majnoon. I stroll on this afternoon like an animated cartoon be it sunshine or monsoon – it’s still June.
Soon, a balloon will burst and I will flee from this curse before I am laying in a hearse wishing I had said hello to that femme beau.
I sorrow and pity that I am not witty in this city of London. Like a dungeon I suffocate.
My weight pulls me straight down to my fate at an equal rate to light falling in the sky. I am in this physiological state where I fixate my devious eyes on my new “soul mate”
I am not immune to the effect of the sun or the moon. I am a buffoon, a loon that gets carried away like a silver spoon but I suppose this is just another day in June.
By Florence Shah
