My Poclair Girl (Verse 2)

poclairBefore Bokum Banku’s cream became the bane in our beautifully buoyant sense of belonging to each other, I remember our first night out. It was the 12th of August, a Friday night. The cold night was showered with bits and pieces of slight rain as if the heavens have been punctured with a needle whiles an angel watered the gardens in heaven. The moon lit the dark blue sky and threw enough light onto the earth for us not to need the ‘bobo’ for it was ‘dumsor’. The dumsor brought lots of ‘creative ideas’ into my ‘innocent’ head for the temptation before me was very tempting. Her skin was soft like freshly baked butter bread soaked in freshly brewed brukutu. Her eyes held me captive like teletubbies caught by a magnet and with inflamed passions I asked “milady, were you moulded with special clay or did God create you on a special day after the days of creation? You are like the salt in the oceans, the blue in the sky, the red in my blood, and the catalyst in this emotional chemical equation called love that I am feeling, without which life wouldn’t have meaning.” You should have seen her blushing! But then I wasn’t playing her for I am no Casanova. The words were flowing naturally. Those who have been in love before can attest to what I’m saying. Now knowing that the floor has been cemented and the seed sown, I drew nigh to that which was already close to me, her lips. Carefully calculating the motion of my lips and timing her mood I approached philosophically, advancing in small steps. When I arrived almost at the ‘junction’ a deep voice hollered at me from behind “charle bossu, what you dey try do?” I froze like ice kenkey.

To be continued…

A verse by Kotey

Good morning.


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