She sat on the floor, cross-legged, in awe of your being.
You probably wore a stunning dress on the final night of PAUDC Madzimabwe. I say probably, because between my cross city travels; and turbulent speech tumbles, it started off as a blur.
What i do remember; is a distinct sense of calm comfort in your presence. Dressed down in comfortable pants and casually sipping cheap wine you would nonchalantly divulge delicious desires in a game of truth or dare.
I do remember the crackle of your laugh, magnifying the humour i barely mustured while amplifying the joy that courses through your personality.
I do remember the excitment of your dancing. Moving your curvacious Kenyan body to a Zimbawean Dancehall drum.
I do remember the beauty of your dimples, the mischief of your wink, and the exhilatation of your roaming hands.
I remember the consuming intentisty of your expressive persona. I watched, in rapt silence, as you narrated an indulgent anectdote to an impressionable young lady.
She sat on the floor, cross-legged, in awe of your being. And, now i remember why.