WHORE’S LAIR

So you stooped to feed your eyes
On visual diets-
Projected across the tangent of an open bog
To a gradient, west of Bathsheba’s loo
But you nursed a moral detour
And you obeyed this whore’s request
To linger on in your amoral show
Conscience! Be gone
For in the whore’s lair
There is no replay
Feed your eyes till they bulge
Like a snared squirrel
Listen to the whore’s bard
As it lulls your senses
Till it journeys down south
To your independent man
Your veins gorge
To the arrival of heated blood
Meandering through the conduit of your flesh
As the freedom song echoed with sweat
Ravaging the tempo of the whore’s bed
Bath she bard

———————

A DATE WITH DEATH’S ADVOCATE

Today, I hosted death’s advocate
He was no less a master of his art
And I was in no least way enchanted
His straps harboured a file
That looked alike a will
He read aloud a portion of my bequest
Quizzing his host on the complexity of estate’s division
December knocks, someone should have that hat
Easter calls, a kinsman should have that garment
He went on and on
Discounting my freeholds before the auction
And that! Oh yes! My soul
Shall not be bequeathed or laid at the auctioneer’s table
For it will be the prize of the race
And my guest’s master himself is a competitor

———————

AUTUMN

Mama, I have to abscond
Away from this clustering mud
Mud of shame and disgust
The quicksand of my reach
Mama, I have to obey
Obey the inviting call of faraway land
For over our fence, the grass is greener
With soil fertile with loam and gold
Fertile enough for my buried desire
And the clime they say is calm
To water the beds of my seeded expectations
For if they do germinate
I shall tarry a season longer
Till I outdo my barn
With harvests of goals attained
But if this autumn be cursed
And my sickle bears no task-
But to exhume buried desires
I shall tarry no longer
But will oil my carriage
Spiffing!
Ride away from the yonder
Back to this land
For the sight from the other side is greener
———————
Poems © Akinsanya Damilola
Image: Pixabay.com