the day you first told me you loved me,
it was hot, the sun picked at
our skins like god
was trying to kill us
with a magnifying glass,
& we walked across a congested bus
park, weaving our way through
women hawking fruits
& men who smelled like
cigarette smoke, holding up
faded jeans.
soon we arrived at a bookstore,
& i have never seen your eyes burn
so bright.
you hopped from shelf to shelf,
fingering the spine of each
book, muttering something about
only wanting to buy one.
you decided to buy seven.
& i watched you drop all of them
on the counter, wearing a grin as bright as
my already balding head.
another book caught your eye.
its electric blue cover
formed a lasso around your wrist
& you asked for the price.
it was a thousand naira above
what you could pay, so i pulled
some naira notes from
my pocket & dropped them
on the counter.
later, on our bus ride home, i listened
to the sport news on the radio, & you
sat beside me, yawning,
messing up the lyrics
to monkey man.
then you stopped, looked at me
for five seconds or so,
slipped your fingers
in-between mine &
continued singing.
the books sat on your thighs,
safe in a white polythene
bag you failed to tie
properly.
& you fell asleep, resting your head on my shoulder.
i looked from your face to the slightly opened
bag. a book stuck out; electric blue
& i watched it, thinking of
the serenity of clear seas,
as you let out a runty groan
in your sleep. your back rising & falling slowly,
like the most gentle wave.
YOU ARE READING
Endless. Blue
Poetry"the day you first told me you loved me, it was hot, the sun picked at our skins like god was trying to kill us with a magnifying glass. . ."
