~(for my unknown African woman; the one i keep dreaming of)~
whatever made you this beautiful
subliming before the dancing sun
i do not know; cannot see.
there are no seasons without rugged tailors
where hungry fishermen sing in boats
dancing on weaves and submitting
to oiled chocolate feet of Goddesses.
i cannot define the colour of the leave
that sheltered the blooming plantain
which stands at home
singing coiling songs of royals.
your charcoal coloured eyes
are the very songs of the palm-wine tapper
that keeps radiating heart fisted lights
into my short-drained mirror eyes.
there is a drinking cup of beauty
it sits in hearts, in souls; squats on dark melanin.
sometimes beyond lakes of Her cold eyes
i see the many pieces of myself stealing
the photographic words that reads
amongst those thickened dark eyebrows.
who made you this mirror flamming sky?
that peacocks perch to read
drumming tales of unleashed feathers.
is it the heavy dew that dances
behind those perfectly
arranged alphabets of your calf?
see. slip. fall. admire. fetch.
dust. harmattan. cracks. peels.
pillows. lenses. colanders. mats.
are the tides that keeps tilting
my leaping ballooned groins
should your shadow walk
through the dream of this hunter’s son.