The Love We Planted before Sleep

Uju walked to the ground which we watered
before we went with the night breeze to our

bed. I saw something slither from her mouth;
it was her heavenly tongue, but they looked like

they brought brimstones from the hell of her throat.
I was waiting for a good morning when

she shone sharp teeth at me. I swallowed
hard and watched her mouth move:

unless you own a cattle ranch,
my heart will not moove;

and if your future doesn't have a plot of
land on Mars, do not plan-it with me.

the promises we made at night were
the consequences of drinking too much

moon juice and peppered porridge.
now that our eyes have been washed

with the yellow sponge of morning light,
let us vomit those things we ate and find

out where we mistook words for brisket
and called them yummy. that thing you

called my confession of a lifetime was
the buttocks of the cock, and that thing

I said about not caring about a bank account,
was the fat bone that almost choked me.

rinse your teeth with fresh ugwu leaves
and remove the smudge of alphabets between

your incisors; they look like lies lying in wait.
and from the way they chatter, they still think

I’m a fool. if you have not softened your lips
with kingly honey, we cannot be.

Uju, your waist-beads sing like the bird
whose head hangs high in the cloud

when lightning and rain are about to
fight for food. I want to make sure that

their appetizer is not your friendly forest.
I do not have a cow, but remember that our

moovement will be quicker without one.
mars has flags flying from its red head.

we cannot claim it; but I will purchase Jupiter
if you promise to be the one to check the

landmarks and hire the workmen who live
there. Don't destroy our night seeds; come

and sit beside me and explain why your thighs
smell like liver hanging over charcoal fire.