I want you for Christmas,
not jingle bells, not Santa’s sleigh.
It is you I want for Christmas,
not yuletide greetings, not wooly coats
for braving Non-Manhattan harmattan.
Not Kellogg’s, definitely not Quaker oats,
stop talking; do not interrupt this poem.
I want you still,
your angelic face cut of ivory,
Walk with me into this garden of love
where we will feast on memories and
Ilesha; Ilesha and memories.
Kisses will be hors d’oeuvres,
kiss me back with at least clear-eyed concern.
Plop into my grip,
that simple act cleanses;
Cardinal Jim Rex Lawson filters this ambiance
with highlife blessings.
Say us, not you and I
and this is the poem you asked for,