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21
IN EVERY DREAM, URE.
<p><strong style="background-color: transparent;"><sup>There are women,</sup></strong><br/><strong style="background-color: transparent;"><sup>and then there are the daughters of Africa whom the Creator fashioned without haste, with patient hands and a heart full of poetry.</sup></strong><br/><span style="font-size: 10.5px;"><strong><br/></strong></span><strong style="background-color: transparent;"><sup>Urenna is one of them.</sup></strong><br/><span style="font-size: 10.5px;"><strong><br/></strong></span><strong style="background-color: transparent;"><sup>Her skin is the colour of rain soaked earth, rich as the ancient forests, deep as midnight over the Niger, wearing the sun's kiss with effortless pride. She is black not as the absence of light, but as its most beautiful resting place.</sup></strong><br/><span style="font-size: 10.5px;"><strong><br/></strong></span><strong style="background-color: transparent;"><sup>Her hips carry the gentle rhythm of talking drums. Her waist is the narrow path that leads a wandering man into sweet surrender. Every graceful curve upon her body is a verse no sculptor could carve, no painter could capture, no language could fully describe.</sup></strong><br/><span style="font-size: 10.5px;"><strong><br/></strong></span><strong style="background-color: transparent;"><sup>When Urenna smiles, villages awaken. When she laughs, the harmattan forgets its coldness. And when she walks, even the wind slows down just to keep her company.</sup></strong><br/><span style="font-size: 10.5px;"><strong><br/></strong></span><strong style="background-color: transparent;"><sup>She has become the quiet invasion of my mind. I wake with Ure's name hidden in my heartbeat, and I sleep only to find her waiting in the kingdom of my dreams. Every thought I gather returns to her. Every prayer I whisper somehow wears her face.</sup></strong><br/><span style="font-size: 10.5px;"><strong><br/></strong></span><strong style="background-color: transparent;"><sup>I have searched for words, but language trembles before her beauty. How do you describe a woman who looks like Africa herself, strong, soft, fertile, untamed, and breathtaking all at once?</sup></strong><br/><span style="font-size: 10.5px;"><strong><br/></strong></span><strong style="background-color: transparent;"><sup>If love must wear a face, let it be Urenna's.</sup></strong><br/><span style="font-size: 10.5px;"><strong><br/></strong></span><strong style="background-color: transparent;"><sup>If longing must have a home, let it be in her embrace.</sup></strong><br/><span style="font-size: 10.5px;"><strong><br/></strong></span><strong style="background-color: transparent;"><sup>This, this is the kind of woman I live for: Urenna, a fine black, curvy dame, whose beauty is felt, whose presence makes boys whisper, and whose existence reminds a man that heaven still leaves angels walking among us.</sup></strong><br/><span style="font-size: 10.5px;"><strong><br/></strong></span><strong style="background-color: transparent;"><sup>If my dreams continue to borrow Ure's image, I dare not complain. Some dreams are too beautiful to ever wake from.</sup></strong></p>
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