My heart itched, and so I longed to scratch it,
I couldn’t, wouldn’t.
The scab was so brittle,
A miserly attempt to guard tufts of indifference
My only desire was to kill you
But your intrigue weakened my conviction each time,
So that my breath ceased instead.
I wanted to buy a dress,
To trace the outline of my youth,
But you insisted on a dira,
Saying that bad men would ogle,
All men ogle.
You said that it revamped my choked figure.
When the opportune moment sufficed,
I bolted, faster than ‘Maputo express’,
Vowing solemnly never to set foot on your tongue.
Oh how sweet your tongue was, because the next morning
I propped myself against your door,
Eyes starved,
Lips cracked,
Mind vacated.
Hunger from midnight.
But I resolved resuscitate your conscience,
If I didn’t, the earth would,
The Divine Eye.

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