May I find love in whatever body that gives me home. Amen. —Romeo Oriogun
Fougère This is the love that becomes worship. You had been told that this love
(From a story most of us know quite well) It was our Genesis the beginning
after ABBA after the magic show ends, Dede & I trudge homewards, past the nighttime
Whiskey tastes better with misery. That’s absolutely correct; you think as you crumple the disposable
On Thursday of last week, my father pumped bullets into my body and watched me
Mother says to pluck bitter leaves from the garden in the backyard, to make Ofe
In the cold silence of the starless night, the bed creaks slowly—almost wearily, as Ife
It was another usual afternoon for Keabetswe. She was bone tired and forced her heavy
We’ve gradually fallen into the habit of patching things up, Mother and I. Like nodding