The Warm Fruit
The Warm Fruit
a non-linear tale of a child of Africa

This is not your home

Home

Words flowing
from his lips
to my tips
I thought of love and hunger
loss and not belonging
I thought of home
when I thought of him


Sundays

On Sundays like this,
I miss you even more
remembering the ways we found
to say nothing to each other
stroking skin against the other


Not Like This

I have been in love before
but not like this
Not with swaths of land
that kept us forever apart
Not with oceans we cannot swim
Not with dreams we cannot keep
Not with a mind I cannot see

I have been in love before
but not like this
I have been in love before

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