I wrote little notes on skin
For him to follow
Little notes to guide his path
As he wandered through the
Landscape of flesh—
Waiting to be broken.
And what is love? Is it not every fibre of his being?
A flame burning in the darkest room?
His eyes are the starry blue of a sun-kissed night,
His lips the gates of paradise—
Unlock and open
That I may pass through.
Black is his beauty, black the beloved
Black his crown, black the colour of his voice,
The scent of
A thousand sunsets
melting as one,
Ambrosial nectar of the
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dan Ajamo was born in Kaduna and raised in Kaduna, Lagos, the Caribbean and England. He currently lives in Lagos, Nigeria. In his spare time, he likes to listen to music, read, and write. His writing has appeared in Litro Online.