By Olabisi Abiodun Akinwale:
ÀNÌKÉ- Day 13
The art & aesthetics of red roses
in the poem, the room has your fingerprints
on everything. on the wall, our photographs
are stories that have survived drought. your laughter
held answers to the questions in my eyes,
your mouth- a river willing to rinse chaos off my skin,
it was how I knew our love will always be home; a place
to disremember the storm raging in our bodies.
how I knew we were meant to be songs of morning birds,
to be electric hearts synced to emit light in an aching
world. In the poem, I asked for dinner & you blended your melanin
with pepper & ginger, I had a bite & chewed into desires,
I swallowed & my stomach became ruminant
with butterflies. tell me, where do you first learnt love is a recipe?
who told you every meal is tasty when made with the hands of the heart?
tell me, who taught you to leave a large piece of your soul
on a lover’s tongue? in the poem, we were so beautiful,
like spring & waterfall in the eyes of a local tourist,
like a pretty relic at the forehead of a national
museum; which is to say we are a whirlwind waiting to happen,
which is to say our love will always have more heartbeats than a buzzling city,
which is to say we will always be the art & aesthetics of red roses.
© Olabisi Abiodun Akinwale