The Spell Of Anne Poem by Linus Kithinji Njeru

At dusk, when dreams begin to stir,
My soul still aches to breathe in her.
A.N.N.E.—each letter flames,
A magic ink in whispered names.

She walks in silk the stars would wear,
A touch of dusk caught in her hair.
Her smile—a tide I can't resist,
Her mouth a myth I've gladly kissed.

No ordinary lips, but wine—
A slow, sweet burn across the spine.
They speak in heat, they speak in sighs,
They write their story on my thighs.

Her breath is softer than the breeze,
Yet strong enough to bring me to my knees.
She doesn't take—she summons need,
A garden blooming from a seed.

She is the fire and also rain,
She is the pleasure laced in pain.
Her gaze, a tether I can't flee,
It binds, it pulls, it frees me.

By moonlight's spell, by shadow's grace,
I long to find our hidden place—
Where time dissolves, where rules suspend,
Where touches start and never end.

I dream her rising like the tide,
Then curling breathless at my side.
Above, below, behind, before—
She opens skies I can't ignore.

Her skin, a field of golden light,
Her voice, the storm that owns the night.
She makes the world fall still, then spin—
And I dissolve to be within.

So if you feel this call, this ache,
This quiet storm I cannot fake—
Then meet me where the dreams unfold,
Where truth is warm and want is bold.

Let fingers speak, let silence moan,
Let space be ours, and ours alone.
A.N.N.E—my sweetest sin,
Unlock your door and let me in.