Iliya kambai Dennis
Glory
Glory, glory to this body
A testament to ruins
Touch me gently. Softly.
Troubleshoot your fingers on my pores.
Gently touch me, again. Again.
Glory to this body that’s a testament to ruins
A siren song wagging and nagging without attention.
Insert yourself into it—into this bruise body;
Through it fractured thighs.
Slowly, gently, patiently.
I’m not used to slyly touch by tulip hands
The first time my skin succumbed to a touch
Wasn’t for pleasure, but as submission to my weakness—
To the gory of its defilement.
Here, I’m slipping snippet.
There, I’m a laughingstock rehearsing the siren song.
The scars on my thighs recite prayers of redemption.
Now, it’s just you and I struggling for pleasure
In this city that’s beautifully destroyed.