How can we have bones so tightly knitted to our skins

Like fitted stitching on mannequin dreams

And still need lovers

And bodies to hold

To touch

And to caress with our tongues and nose tips

When did we forget the essence of skin-deep discreetness

And the need for speed when hanging our selfless thoughts

When did we start needing shadows to call ours

Fingers to interlock with

& names to complement our aloneness

en did we fall in love?

 A God Loved in Monochrome

(For Mo)

Facts have it that we love to cuddle—pathetic overthinkers— that we are human leeches, living off the miracles of olive skins. Homesick melancholics.

Secretes. I sleep with three pillows. I grope the duvet like the thighs of a woman. But I still wake up,

Pupils dilating, muscles beating

Spasmodically, fingers quavering.

The human condition taking its toll.

Reports have it, my lover is my newfound OCD.

Her memories— the phantom future.

My heart  the pulp she ate.

Whispers have it  I die every night

And wake to die again by sunrise.

Lores have it

You can’t fill the void of a hungry god

You don’t tread the path cut on their ivory tongues

You don’t slack!

It is death.

My lover is

a famished road

& I walk all over her on tiptoes,

stripped and scorched till I  

creep into her guts.

A burnt offering—

She swallows me.



Before you fall asleep

Pray thee

Choose wisely— heart seeker.

For so many dreams are never truly relived in polychrome.

With warm, curious eyes for sad and broken things, A. D. Xavier is a perpetual daydreamer, constantly lost in his world of make believe. With a rather uncouth worldview on sadness and misery, he adores sad, slow songs and obsesses over sad poems. Still in his second year of tertiary education, A. D. Xavier is an undergraduate of English and Literary Studies at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. He believes Eminem is the greatest rap poet to have ever lived. A fervent desciple of Tems, Sia and Adele. Overly discreet, this is his first ever entry to a literary journal.