NARCISSIST
Naked.
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.
Whole.
*
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.