A friend who calls a friend a friend,
He is my friend in darkness
My coolmsasa greatness
A man of unparalleled wisdom
He speaks words of freedom,

A song of freedom to me,
Of liberation true
Coming on the wake of
an even darker night.
When not even
noisy cicadas stirred
He dared

My muse, my won personal oracle
My inner heart he knows,
And with these my hearts strings
a miracle he weaves
my inner voice he hears,
and with its rhythm and beat
a song he writes
my woman hood he penetrates,
and with its sweet quintessence
a queen he fashions

my coolmsasa greatness
could I ever hope to touch him
on a cold key board
could I hope for the tips of my fingers
to glide upon the planes of his cheeks
and brush against
lush lashes of closed eyelids
could I hope that where he sat
he tasted me and smelt sweet my womanly
smell that could speak for me words that
these black strokes could never convey

He’s heart is hidden to me,
my friend who calls a friend a friend
My coolmsasa greatness,
A man of unparalleled wisdom
who speaks to me
his words of freedom,

"to luke; this poem may have a meaning or none at all, it may be called an abstract poem, it may not.

With abstract poems, the meaning is in the interpretation, it is for the listener or reader to decide, whatever meaning it may have to them at a particular point in time.

Someone once said a poem is not a poem until it has meaning to the reader, otherwise it is a useless poem, just words without essence.

I’d say it’s a dead poem, waiting to be resurrected by someone who will interpret it according to their, heart, mind and being. At any rate this poem, when I first drafted it was something else, in the final draft it turned into something else altogether different, hmm, it had a life of its own,

It is however dedicated to you, it may mean something to you, it may mean nothing at all. Maybe it will mean something, today, maybe just tomorrow, or even yesterday or maybe never. This is nothing it is only the difference between life and death, living and dying. The death of a poem what is it, in the scheme of things compared to the sleep of millennium year old mummies that lie in Egyptian tombs, and the departed souls, of kings, queens, emperors, warriors, and commoners alike?

So it may mean something to you, it may not, do not concern yourself either way.
Ps: still incomplete and yet untitled. Oh and the penetration part is probably metaphoric, I think I had to mention that."