First, I gasped for those lips,
like the warm air I needed.
Then I set my eyes at the back of these house,
on the hills, stacked like mother’s yam tubers.
then, I was salivating, losing myself
at the front where the two oranges hung freely.
Then everything was gone
because I was a boy with no mouth.
Later, I stood in front of father’s house
and sewed these letters to stitch my bleeding heart;
we meet beautiful people,
sometimes too beautiful, so they steal our breaths away.
Other times, they simply fold our lips
and dump them beneath their smiles.
the feelings that never make it out of our lips
are the most endearing, the most durable.