I’ll Spread Your Legs Across Continents

I’ll spread your legs across continents and worship at your altar with the offering of my tongue to all the gods residing within you. Until they all melt into cream.

I will lick your toes and name them after my ancestors. Onyango and Okoth and Nyar Ogutu with her children. Your pawpaw shall pull the moon to ground.

In broken chords you sing. Piercing the air with tantric sounds. Hissing and whizzing. Your bewildered eyes interrupt the sequence, and here, my drunk fingers wade through your welling mayhem.

Do you desire to be eaten, Queen of Tigania?
Do you wish that time should come to a halt?

I am he who harbours the spirit of the lake. My tides sweep and wash and squash.

Your body carries God’s secrets, and I am after celestial graces.

You open your thighs like Nina Simone’s mouth on a new dawn. Chapter of a new life.

Like a clearing sky after a rainy night.

And I enter your throne as the King I am. With a sizzling rod in my hand. Mumbling to Okatch Biggy.

I want to know what you’ve buried between these mighty pillars of joy.

I want to moisten your soul out of its hiding. Let me bathe in the thickness of its carnal splendor.

I finger like a witch.

You must have swallowed a river by how wet you get when I touch you.

My tongue is a sorcerer’s. His name is Jamach.

You’re gonna have to tell me something before I let you go. Anything. A secret. A lie. A dream.

But I’m only leaving this place with your voices on my mind.

And a wet beard.