Regardless of what the scorching sun
will tell you about the frailness of our
skins, we are not hot pairs of testicles
which swings at the behest of wind,
neither are we eulogies sang by market
women at the burial of the Naira, rather

We are the rhythm that resonates in
the cubicles of your heart; sweet song
which spurs seas of orgasms down
the algorithm of your spine

We are the bright smiles glued on
the bareness of your faces, the feel
of ecstasy published on the protuberances
of your tits, conversations on the lips
of your children muttering 'Volim te, Volim te'

We are not dances offered to please
profane gods at the juncture of
renaissance, neither are we groanings
made by children oozing out smokes
and sweats behind latrines; Lo! We
are ointments of graces poured as
libations on the hips of your virgins

#Blues #Songs


© daniel ezeokeke