Beware, least you inspire in me not an act
But a cobweb on the soul–
“How do you say no in an attempt?”
No man ever did—an elemental balm.

For men the work of God’s creation drives
A tradition up against the wall.
You must nurture it, watch it, like a newborn—
Otherwise, the spark can travel the path of stone.

For us the breast undoes itself over and over:
Just like the fingernail grows back, the grass grows back,
The feeling of the mammary glands
Make each sucking embrace interesting and complete.

And it helps for women not to make the experience too puzzling;
From the obligatory to the personal…
“Did you think I was talking about men’s life alone?”
I was trying to drive a point about nipples and cherry blossom drops…

I am in an abandoned boat,
And the hail brought on by your love
Bounce about me, everything about, of you:
Your smell, your taste.

I don’t know a way out of this sonorous storm–
This cool peril inside me.
“I guess the weaver knows each string of warp.”
What breeze carries the smell of this storm?

I must be calmed down by the comfort of your touch.
Finger-touches, drawing in the thread of my peculiar flesh…
I promise to respond, return the gesture
For lovers in a darkened, quiet bed;

Each velvet hair on the lower curve of your back:
A tongue, a lip, fingertips find.
Perhaps your feeling will find an escape valve—
This moment, where your body welcomed me.

“Do you feel the heat coming…”?
The warmth that came off you,
Do you sense it’s just my worrisome imagination?
Should I feel requited, or speak an old language?

Copyright © 2020 Chris Chinwe Ulasi 

♦ Professor Chris Chinwe Ulasi, Ph.D. is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News.

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