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  • Writer's pictureHarun Shabazz

Half of My Religion

I miss you.

I miss you in every sense of the word in which a man can miss a woman—

The sweet sound of your voice,

The gentleness of your touch.

Your presence is like a warm Sunday afternoon.

The sight of you is like a flower in full bloom.

You are my comforter,

My peace,

My strength to bear the unbearable,

The shelter to weather this storm.

You are my bed,

My pillow,

My sheets,

The cover I wrap myself in at night to stay warm.

I long for your breasts to rest within my chest,

Your thighs wrapped around mine,

To lose sight of your skin within the darkness that we once lay in.

My heart does not beat,

My blood does not flow,

I cannot eat, sleep or breathe,

Without thinking of you.

From the depths of my soul,

To all that I want to behold,

Through lightning and thunder,

From way down under,

From Australia to Africa,

To the South Seas of China,

From time to eternity,

You are all the woman I ever wanted,

And all the woman I will ever need.

You are my canvas,

My paint,

My brush,

My inspiration.

You are half of my religion.

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