I venture to be an outsider,
to  worship you , not from near
at your celestial shrine of love
to be like a flying white dove
My Veins   are alphabets;
Thumbs are words;
Hands are sentences.
My pages are for your lust;
Chapters are for your life;
My book is your soul.
Cover becomes the tomb stone.

By Williamsji Maveli

Email:williamsji@yahoo.com