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
every morning, I break
the sky against my tongue.
let me tell you something about
language: some blank spaces
were born to remain blank.
I should confess why I love space:
in space, no one can hear you break.
faith is what remains
after the fire has turned to ashes.
at night, i discover i still have
the bite marks i asked God
to conceal under moonlight.
maybe someday, I’ll look at my hands
and tell it to hold something firmly.
I fall through my
body like catfish.
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.
Become an Author Without Writing
We figured out how you can become an author without having to write! Check it out and see other services we render to get started.