High Heels

High Heels
A slap, a kiss, and worlds collide
On top of the blanket
On an abandoned street
In the dead of winter
With heels 3 inches high
The Visitor
Off in the distance
Silhouetted against a starry horizon
Black and ominous.
Looming, yet pleasantly inviting: surreal
A finger pointed to its peak
There it is, right there
The Trodden Path
I have seen it.
A few times before.
Ominous, uncontrite, yet true.
I sought its advise some more
though times evaded not new.
An open door to an empty plot,
devised to trap and snare.

Now

So I have a view now

When We Were Young

I gaze out, unto the golden sands
A flicker of light dances on the sunlit sea
This is where we came when we were young
The calabash tree like a monument still stands
A stones throw away from old man Daniel's hut
Everything still looks the same, as time captured in a frame