mona

mona

hearing mona speak

sour and rough,

warm like milk

and dark like coffee,

she is all eyes

and beautiful,

the way her voice fills

her throat

and shimmers in your ear.

she is angry,

like a tiger with liquid eyes

and furious claws,

desperately clutching to

hide her sadness.

it’s like a fire

that burns bright,

but only at night.

it’s like waiting for

that rushing river

to ebb and flow

up to your knees

until,

at last,

it swallows you whole.