19 LINES FROM THE FRAGMENTS OF MY LOVE

She carry the gods in her palm, and her painting, on the
brittle glass, some grey-ash primroses, hummingbirds and
some rose flowers lurking in her toes too.

I wrote her name on my palm- her home, I feel how
enthralling it is to have someone I love on the walls of my hands,
I rewrite it, and a smile engraved on my cheek.

Her hair flutters, shuttering at the conundrums on the
streets of ikeja, which murdered her sweet smiles,
and resurrecting it into a canto, filled with butterflies and sprouted petals.

She glows the verses on the thin lines from the inklings
written on the timber barks, then her iris, made the darkened room a sunshine.

Take! A cup from the afterlife,
All things visible, half of a moon,
In the skins of a bruised tooth and some tattered breadfruits- half sonnet! Half dirge.

They lived with depression in islands surrounded by flames of burnt wings from the cupid’s
The omo west carrying the gods on their rosary.
Setting foxgloves on blaze, cupid too; BISI says: “I’m tender, brittle and glassy”.
Love was murdered last night and a rebirth of depression and intro-death.