Only worship.

I have only 21 minutes to write this. I'm high as I write this, on beer and some concoction. It frees me to stumble about my brain, seeking for truth or anything close. This world is pale with different hues that do not really capture the beautiful lights that pour out of our skin when we find love. I knew love once.

---

_{pixabay: jennyfriedriech}

---

I knew the pink purple sweetness
of her lips, the tender creamy softness
of her skin. I knew the voice of her
laughter & I, broken into too many parts
to remember, have held her tears
within these palms, washing her hair,
her feet, taken her breath within kisses,
holding her hands in the intertwining
of prayer, yes-I knew love once.

Today, I have traversed the market, searching for a man, a black man, a tall black man, with a scar on his chin, his hands stained with old cigarette smoke, to buy weed from. I want to smoke it and soar with the eagles or bend beak with the crows. He is not there, among the women raking fish and slicing vegetables into cherubs of small wings. He is not there among brawny men tearing meat from bones, their voices calling for one to buy, anyone to see the beauty of their bloody goods. I do not find him.

But I find beauty,
A slow movement of limbs,
Parting skirt, startling doves
From pecking crumbs.
I find her soft presence
Encased in sweat, her eyes glittering
With its own healthy sun.
I want to touch her Ebony skin,
To taste the juncture of clavicle,
To hear my name on her tongue
But I have nothing to give her,
No song, no dance can I hide
The burning flame on my lips,
The slow eating of my flesh,
The piano beauty of my torso.

I exit the market in a flight that takes me into the main road, where cars do not care for men or women, where motorbikes are as arrogant as toilet flies, where the sun offers no respite. The sweat gathers on my lips, around my waist like jigida beads. My hungers take my feet down the road to the place where junctions meet. I am lucky. A sacrifice to one god sits there, pounded yam and meat, kolanut and alligator pepper. There is 50 naira for water and cigarettes and when it is done, I roam away into my madness.

Ogun entered Benin that night, lame with a war that no one remembers. He found me near the Palace, my feet to the statue of Emotan, my head on the edge of tire tracks. He asked for his food and I had no answer. Ogun took me to his forge and forged me into something strange. I left with my wrapper and the sun in my eyes.

So we are gods now eh?
Because we have consorted with a god?
There is garden egg and groundnut,
The cup is cool with water, there is
A solo from a flute flowing from
Ring road; nobody knows what comes.

Ogun has given me flesh to eat
And my bones are armoured in bronze.
I want to strut but I must limp
And my clothes still stink of penury.
Who knows me at home?

I wake walking an expressway. I am going to. Mofor Park. A king died there once, towing two bags of debts and leaving children without ears. I find the wanderer in my dreams and call him by name but he does not answer. I push him into the cold river and jump in with him. At Abraka, Olokun kissed me but her curse weighed heavier
Than Ogun's mantle. I am doomed I say but gods speak only to the wise.

I try to swim to shore but the river is a raving madness. I call on all my fathers but which man stands before Olokun and testifies? When she has had her fill, she dumps me at Eku and I march onto night, my back to the Niger, my front to a highway with no name.

The market is empty and beauty is gone and love is gone. I can barely remember my lover and her skin of cream. I hear she has married and has two kids. I roam my silver and agony and wonder what I should have birthed in her embrace and the sum total of this life where each path is as painful as the next. Oy worship is left.