Many a bubble gum, popcorn, american movie

has cast a boy

in precarious privacy, snatching at something of his

under the sheets and stirring.

Staring at sirens of the screen

or at the centre of open legs, explicit in a magazine...


But for a girl to be filmed doing the same – it becomes

erotic, too sexual, rated 18.


To this we both agreed, and that's how it began.


Together often, intentions disguised, meetings unplanned

commitment diminished – the very ensemble of features presenting

intimacy – yes;

Intensity trounced

and traded

for a fetish flooded.

A longing prolonged.


Roaming for weeks on end

between tacit flirting

and void like separation endorsed and understood.


Until again our wanting set against each other

urban city soaked,


Two lovelies unable to play ball

unless the other threw first.


To ebb the tide of our raging rivers

into a tranquil lake,

came her dreadful disguise to form a study.

came my answers pedantic in accuracy

of a me she never had in mind...


And so

like a turn that never came the circle

a third text unanswered

in a night which ran and ran.

She... escaped from completism

Eluding to a thing

she had no heart to say

nor thumbs to tell.


'Fuck her',

desire, pinning, loss,

'she's a bitch anyway',

dismantling, dismissing, clipping of the girl,

I curated as angel.


Going on as if I desired you further than something sexual.

Going on as if I didn't want you weaker.

Going on as if didn't want you naïve.

Going on as if I'd never done the very same thing

and scorned the person of lesser interest.


Going on as if I've ne-vaaa.


By chima nsoedo