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SUBJECT: ARTICLE TITLE: SALVOX: QUEEN OF THE MORNING. GENRE: LOVE/ROMANCE

Category: /General/

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It was late morning and the sun was biting my skull without an apology. Except t5hat someone once said "don't be the friend of another man's wife", I had looked twice: that was Salvox, my princess escere whose punctal tinted all-over beauty was brisking in the sun like tarntalilies at August's hush, or roses in numerous ubiquitous shades without a thorn-caution - a fair-hearted jimortal ablast. Salvoxa asoya - i.e. "Morning flower", I saw you. We had criss-crossed ur ways as foot-paths do, rotating love, and well about without consultation when I was twelve. Her eyes, though an African's, beamed with golden brown rays that type of cock-set eyes, you know? Bless the day then, for I never got near, but prayed she fell into love's cold, cherishing best hands as instinct had said she was not for me. Those choir days in that Max Brown's church of intent and lintent was not the type you could fling laps around in or loosen your belts or even use the word "daddy". We only knew God. That was it. And God knew us, which made as some later alluded some very golden virgin girls stay up to their fifties ignored of love they ignored. Then the day came - I sang naskal soprano and all in-between, but she trebled zeal - I conducted, she soloed. I fluted, she violined, yet we were far apart as love's life knows best; but dancing around a tree forbidden - love had now put us in the same school - a school liker schools just for kings and Queens' kids, yet we were still faraway as a fish in the north Atlantic would know a kraken in the depths of the Indian ocean, or their cousins in the Pacific. Yet, she complained of my elder brother's brutality. Then, love would not forgive them when whether witches or devils caused it the had an accident and got her lovely ankle patched - I would never forgive them.

Finally, one day in church, she was lead-sing a song that told me quickly how her beclouded, thorny future would be - I read into it immediately - " thru thick and thin we'll make it." Let's leave it here in love's ascerted hands... she bemoaned of blackness and a deal of a dish, so love now calls from a tower :"squik!" may the birds say.

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