When love is fresh;
sour agbalumo taste
permeating every corner.

When love gets cocky,
and becomes something else,
substandard and hurtful.

When you leave me,
or take me for granted.
Omo, I go sell market.


Warm Bodies

Chika spread her legs wider apart and ran her hands leisurely over his back.
“Mmmm….”, her moan trailed off as he pushed slowly inside her, trying to bury his whole body inside of hers.
Closing her eyes, she traced her fingertips lightly down his arms; shoulders to wrists, and thought about those other arms. The original arms. Those arms with the leather bracelet around the left wrist. The bracelet she would hold on to while the rest of the body attached to those arms pinned her in a position like this one. And the eyes would stare soulfully into hers. Those lips would mouth, “I love you, baby”, even as he thrust hard and sweet, deeper into her, aiming for her heart and soul…
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