Abiodun Salako (he/him) is a Nigerian Journalist, Copywriter, and Resident- at-Sea. In his spare time, he daydreams of Eden.

Weekdays At The Home of Our Bones

It’s just me and you,

 drinking milk like adolescence,

 frothing at the mouth with snacks,

 and using our faces to mark each other’s bodies

we have just two seasons here, but each year 

 in the home you and I buried ourselves, inch by inch 

 there are four seasons: love, love, love and love

we recite night prayers as alphabets

 then we kiss each other starting from the feet:

 this is how love turns to ritual then to rhyme 

last night, i dreamt of Daisies and realised 

 Daisies do not grow in my country:

  at breakfast, I hold my hands and your bones 

reset the world, everything present tastes like cream,

  lavender, cheese, melon soup, burnt toast

  everything present looks like the beginning 

  before Eden collapsed.

A Non-Linear Series Of Embodiment

1.

every morning, I break

the sky against my tongue.

2.

let me tell you something about

language: some blank spaces

were born to remain blank.

3.

I should confess why I love space:

in space, no one can hear you break.

4.

faith is what remains

after the fire has turned to ashes.

5.

at night, i discover i still have

the bite marks i asked God

to conceal under moonlight.

6.

maybe someday, I’ll look at my hands

and tell it to hold something firmly.

7.

I fall through my

body like catfish. 

Contributor’s Bio

Abiodun Salako (he/him) is a Nigerian Journalist, Copywriter and Resident- at-Sea. In his spare time, he daydreams of Eden. His fractured pieces have appeared in Kalahari Review, Africanwriter, WriteNowLit, SledgehammerLit, DwartsMag, LocalTrainMag, Levatio, BullshitLit and elsewhere. He writes from Lagos, Nigeria. Say cheerio to him on Twitter @i_amseawater.

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