Lovers of the sun.

Oh ye lightskin, the lighter you get, the darker the heart.
Oh ye lightskin, you descended from the sky, polished by the sun.
You peeped through the slit of my heart, to the inner thighs of my soul.
Quite the illumination you were, when the dance floor turned, stopped and stared. Shot after shot, they drank to your beauty, they downed the bitter. I felt the better.

Oh ye pretty, in the night you glow, half the make up twice the cute smile. It leaves a trail, while you waltz around the dance floor.

Guardian of the Tequila, Lord of the Cocktail, titles I proudly adorn. But I don’t mind, I don’t mind.It’s you and I, I’m your apple of the *I. I don’t mind.
We are young, in love, living life for the feeling, I have you and you have the loins of the  seven hills of the city.


 

The doctors say she should fall in love, with the beat; and I have the song,the whole song.
She dances to the song on the minute, everytime, all the time.
To the prosody of her heart beat, her soul, it plays. It’s all she hums, in
the kitchen, in the bathroom, on the floor. All the DJs know her, it’s the song she yearns for, the soundtrack of her salient life.

That vinyl has made us best friends, lovers and askaris to each other’s hearts.
She opens the gate, when I’m sad,I close when she’s had a bad hair day.I open it when she crawls on the dance floor after a sip too many.
I tighten the lock when she’s in pain, that time of the month when the termite bites her tummy uncontrollably. With warm water, I close.


Oh ye lightskin, like a month drawn to a flame I’ve become.
Oh ye lightskin, it’s as attractive as it burns.
My wings are on fire, I’m engulfed. Not even the sands of the Sahara can put it out.
My tummy is full, from the glean of my screams in the sandstorm.

Oh ye pretty, what shall we have for dinner tonight, even Hello Food this time won’t help.
Even the acrylics are scared, they cry out to you. “Not Again, ma’am last Christmas we got broken.”
Before was the vanish, that made the the grim vanish; but the vanish has since vanished, a little laundry ensured that.

Cereal and milk is loyal tonight, but not for long. We need to eat, I need to eat and mostly you need to eat.

The doctor said you have to, the ulcer nodded in approval. And i love you, I love your tummy too. I hate the ulcer. So!


P.O.BOX . Nearest Salon. You changed address yet again, thrice a week you visit the driers, the moisturizers. I wonder, what’s that, that is always so wet, yet so dry? I don’t understand.
Even the gym guy misses you, he last saw you like last year’s last year. I gave him your Whatsapp number.
Maybe I won’t have to re-assure you that I don’t mind about the extra fat near the navel, in endless loops.

My hand has been asking, it used to hold yours, not anymore. What changed? We used
to hold hands on the streets, kiss on the dancefloor, drown in the sea of heads and pretend no one is watching. We don’t anymore
Even that routine Cinema kiss is dead and gone. Why? How? I have questions.

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Source: My own hands.

 

 

 

 

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11 thoughts on “Lovers of the sun.

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