To my sweetest Locadia: I am sorry

My sweetest Locadia,

Time and ability plus double faculty has propelled me to fish out my ballpoint pen from the deep basket of love to send you this mesmerising missive. 

Ok, now I know you wondering 'why is Moggy now writing this weeping letter on this innocent sheet of paper after he treat me like that?'. Let me get straight to the point and stop being noxious by going from the mutondo tree to the musasa tree as the elders said. Let me stop hitting the dog while concealing the handle of the hoe, as the other elders also said.

Procrastination is the thief of time, as the British say.

Dear, Locadia, I am sorry. I am sorry like you don’t ever know, dhiya.

The woman I married, we live together, but no love anymore. We are like railway tracks; parallel and going together but never meet. She is so cantankerous. The time I saw her sexful emails to her axe  

boyfriend in the paper I went sad like I just hit a pena overbar after 90 minutes.

Please feel sorry for me. Give me your forgiveness. Dig deep in your mine of love and let the ore of love flow to me on a conveyor belt of forgiveness, landing in the burning furnace of my heart to be refined into pure nuggets of golden passion. 

I don’t know why I married that person. I wanted you. Please put the sugar in my sour tea and take me back.

Loki, if you refuse me, I shall take Robert’s advice and you find me hanging from the tallest branch of the nearest habros tree. 

Even as I write this missive, I think of the sexful geography of your body.  Oh, halleluyah! Just thinking you and I rise to the occasion so fast it look like Nyaminyami himself is hiding in my trouser. That’s what you do to me Loki. You alone.

You are yellow like Buttercup on my bread, come let me spread you nice and devour your yellow beauty. You are orange like fruits, let me squeeze you tight and create good juice like my manifesto. 

The Bible the word of Jesus say ask and it will be opened, knock and you shall find. Something like that. Now, I stand at your door, Loki, knocking. Please open, so that thy humble servant can enter you. 

Locadia, no more funny games. Now I want to make babies in conjunction with you. I want a coalition of our two fluttering hearts.

My heart is haranguing me asking why 'Prime Minister of the country, why did you leave Locadia?'. And I say, 'My heart, don't harangue me, I have no answer'.

If only you only know what’s going on in my deeper encephalon you would understand and come to me. Not to mention the way my medulla oblongata is reaching maximum overload with guilty emotion.

Allow me to pen off here because the lawyers have come from the court and they are not looking happy.

I hope my efforts are not too late like a skeleton drinking water.

Please think long and serious. 

XOXO (hugs and kisses all over your contours and regions)

Forever your Prime Minister, whatever they say

Moggy

*SWALK* Sealed with a kiss