god, too, is bisexual

 

one sweltering saturday,

when the verdant sky still had its translucent light

god woke, aroused, groggy from creation

and craving the luscious feel of masculine touches

he created, in his own image, for his sexual orgies

a man, blessed with the handsome features of supreme beings

and the gift of intelligence     

and god, seeing that he was good, fell in love

and so began the routine of evening intercourse

between man and god—a supernatural consummation

of two masculine bodies, sweaty from rigorous passion.

 

like man, devoid of lengthy attention span

god, bored by the sensual satisfaction from male ego

needed another being—maybe a new sex object

and seeing that he wielded the powers of creation

again, for his sexual explorations, he created another being-

from the crevices of existing protocols-

known for its succulent boobs and fleshy butts

 

and the story of creation

became a genesis of concupiscence

between god and certain creatures

first in his likeness, and then another,

an aggregation of soft mounds

 

and on the seventh day

he rested from the labour of

clumsy intercourse.

 

  

the shape of loss

 

maybe it is in your chest,

the way it contracts, tightly,

encroached by palpitations,

and the way you feel exposed

your insides displayed

on an inert slab, in public

left to embrace the emptiness

of cold stares, wagging tongues

 

or maybe it is in your hands,

how your cold palms try, but

fail, to grasp shadows of

something you will never be able

to reclaim, how your hugs, when you

try to cuddle, is met with a deafening

emptiness, crisp and incoherent all at once

 

sometimes, this is how loss works:

  1. you walk into yourselves

    on a certain windy evening

    or maybe it is on the celestial

    wingback of a social media room

    then love becomes the unsaid codes,

    the encrypted wishes lurking behind

    your messages, then it is accepted,

    allowed, left to crawl into existence

    like a bundle of something from a pregnancy

     

  2. you learn to fear commitments,

    you are scared of many unknowns

    a reality eating deep into your insides

    but most importantly, you fear yourself

    you cannot bear to show love—you do not

    love, like everybody else, maybe you are not

    normal, just a flaw in nature’s configuration-a

    gradually become a faint whisper

    in the periphery of his existence,

    or maybe your absence haunts him too

    but the fear won’t let you go back

    you leave, a composite of nightmare,

    lovelessness and abscondment

    factory error

    but you love him too much to hurt him

    you would never forgive yourself

    if you did

  3. so, you become scarce from his warm embrace

    gradually become a faint whisper

    in the periphery of his existence,

    or maybe your absence haunts him too

    but the fear won’t let you go back

    you leave, a composite of nightmare,

    lovelessness and abscondment

     

maybe it is in the eyes

the way you soak up tears at night

stifling pain between recurring sniffs

love is the sorrow eating you up

so that you crave your conversations

promises of things you would do

to each other’s bodies

you miss him, you admit this

and wish you could crawl back

into his succulent breath

 

but loss is something you know too well…

 

 

 

Adefolami Ademola is a writer and social commentator

His poems have appeared in Sentinel Literary Quarterly, Prosopisia, New Orleans Review, Black Room, Poetry Potion, among others. His nonfiction pieces have been published in Akoma, The Nerve Africa, The Afro Vibe, Ynaija, Newshunter, Ebedi Review.

A 2016 PIN (Poets in Nigeria) Poets’ Residency Fellow, his poem, “Memories, regurgitated” made the Top Ten Shortlist in the 2016 edition of the Korea/Nigeria Cultural Poetry Fiesta.

His personal essay Dying in Installments was recently published in the print edition of the Selves Anthology of Creative Nonfiction.

He is Marketing Manager at Ouida Books.