Hemmed between a small bakery and Baba Wande’s half-plot compound, our home has the appearance of a rotund woman proudly reposed east-west and flanked on each side by a slender girl. As if the expected rectangularity of most houses annoyed him, Father had the side walls of our one story high home built aslant so …
seeking the sultry delights of the chevron of your golden thighs that gleam against brown sheets like the Abeokuta sunrise I still hold the taste of you from the last time on my tongue like an unspoken promise
Ọ̀rẹ́, where the walls have ears, secrets become mouthed songs Songs that only the initiated know the dance to & In that garden of concealed meanings, metaphors and parables bloom Akanni, I have sung songs, where is your dance?
One of them is between a queen's thighs & Another is behind the dark curtains of death
The shadows grow longer and the grey clouds journey home And now the madman seeks the sanity of privacy Gingerly, he gathers his belongings And abandons his perch at the market's T-junction Giddily, he falls in step with us