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LOVE | becoming reality.

A rose doesn't wither when it is in the heart
                          but it is why a heart fades
and entwine into another like
a frond of basket.
a boy sits (in) between a boulevard
                             and waits for a lady all day.
There is no sacrament.
                                       only love
and love doesn't wait forever, it is short —
that, it sperms eternity like a façade
                                             becoming reality.
and the only magic in love
                                            is people & heart
like a candle and the wax —
                                           they (nay), it burns ... eternity.

There, in the garden of flowers
there is a favourite.
                               although all with colours,
there is one without colour, it's not unugly
but it is what the heart takes
                                             because it is simple
and it only need a heart that understands
                                               to become beautiful.

Another kind of love is dangerous,
                                                       I swear, like an onion.
there is a boy in the corner of a bar
                a girl waits wanting to wake him
again to himself. the boy writes himself
in bottles but the girl here,
                                            write him in her heart.
there is no sacrament.
                                     only love
and love doesn't wait forever, it is short —
that, it sperms eternity like a façade.
                                             becoming reality.

"words from the innocent mind"
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace

click to read publishing opportunity on Philip Peace Literary World.


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For Ikeoluwa.

I have sailed in the ocean — on
your body's warm drenched spot axis,
and i have felt the touch of your
freezing burning hands and cold words:
you said some soft words gently in
my ear on a cold night. and my
body is a tree, it rustles
when winds beat. winds like your mutters.

I have a whirling desire
that we are over the 9th edge;
grabbing, rocking, licking, tasting —
and the passion flows 'n' action shows.
your whole body defines a lot
even when i see nothing but
the voluptuous pillows of a
tired bed, calling me to sleep.

Slowly, this pace beats rapidly
like a running fire. and i'm
burning coldly on a meet with
your whitish round thorax muscle.
glorious! your body is a bike
and i'm good at riding roughly.
slide and glide, make a symphony
of our salvation on this cold night.

Akinwale Peace AkindayoPhilip Peace