My Kinda Lady

I like me a lady who reads so I can be saturated in her wisdom as she shares with me the tales of her tales, as she batters me with the wounds of her learned words. Like in the biblical times have her heal me with her mere presence as she preaches words of her imaginary journeys, pin my ears back to her as she shares tales of her encounters with the Moses and the Adams of yesterday. I want me a lady who draws so she can sketch away our footsteps to tomorrow, rays of the sun and echoes whispers of the moon. I want me a lady who paints so she can paint me in her world with the colours of her world, colours of rebirth, crafting every step with brushes of hope, the rainbow of painted dreams. I want me a lady who is a dancer so she sways me away from all that aches to the stage of utter freedom tapping to hymns of salvation, break dancing away from pessimism to positive realisations. I want me lady who is a prayer warrior so she can intercede on my behalf when words flee from me, when my rose of faith withers away, when my skin becomes a victim to earthly desires. I want me a lady who honours her creator with all the art in the word, dedicating reverence to the novelist of the universe in all her thoughts. I want me a lady capable to do all a man can do in the most lady like manner wearing the brightest of smiles, a lady whose presence cannot go unnoticed only for her humility, a lady who brightens the darkest of rooms with her speech, a lady who turns the stiffest of heads with her Godly beauty, a lady who oozes God’s glory, a saver of lost soul by her mere presence, a preacher of God’s word.