written by: Temitope Ayodeji
We do not beg for seeing.
Afore we crisscrossed, Moony luster
lulled the tinder of thatch; pleading
away the scheduled sketch
of rodents, emerging with the
dawn of night.
When the awning mounts, We
by cinders replay the bright
of a warriors shiny tale, wagging
it's thriller between divides of gusto,
resonating rubicund choruses.
Sweet; the bitter hint of darkness
on the bud. That we lean not
into the taboo of flapping wings;
hovering, shedding native terror.
In this place of dark,
styrofoam and strobe.
Daemons would circle in their stark,
demur the impiety sweating sanity
away in streams.
The sky is flesh that breaks.
Wound and scars
Moon and stars,
run your smile on my path.
The Mountains even; ducked in grandeur,
inch away into vales to divine
the finery. Medley of motifs. Beauty-
phantasmagorical- that must not be
looked in the face.
Dancing on the cusp assiduous,
a vortex of twinkles.
It consumes with a coil of serpent.
Surrenders a danger of vision.