Of balls and a Nairobi woman

It’s sometimes a huge burden to have these balls. I try to love them, and most times, I do. But these marbles can cause stinging pain and misery.

It gets worse when they’re starved. Yesternight, this left one began howling like a lost hyena in the middle of the night. Then the right one joined. The cause of all this mayhem?

A Nairobi woman.

There’s this girl that’s been my friend for a long time. That’s all I wanted from her–friendship. I’ve confided in her so many truths. She knows a ton of stuff about me than none of the ghels I’ve served juice knows.

Damn! This girl has called me in the middle of the night asking if I had taken my midnight snack when she knows I’m the type that eats the meal, the snack, the pudding, and the nyokonyoko yote in one full swoop.

This girl is extremely attractive, but never had I noticed she has a sexual appeal until ’em balls began haranguing me over my blindness tor her beauty.

Now the balls want me to betray our friendship an ask for the osweges. That isn’t the hard part.

The problem is, the balls have now corrupted my thoughts. Everything she does now seems suggestive. Now I don’t only see the friend, I see the woman; nubile and appetizing. I’ve tried to restore my sight to friendship settings, but I see all the things I shouldn’t be seeing.

Walimwes, should I retain the friendship or do as the balls say and ask for her juice?

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As a poet, your work is to write about love–not to find it.
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orgasm

No woman should ever be judged for her sexual indulgences. Sex is freedom, and orgasms cleanse us in a way that only orgasms can.

Bereft

I would have loved to lie
That I miss your company
But insomnia took your place
and we’re doing just fine.

Of Poets and Whores

She’s a girl who’ll be known for her balls
Whoever she encounters she hardens or breaks
She shines with the moon
Arresting the glory of goddesses
My chest heaves at her expectations
Sure, to get laid is a given
But to satisfy a woman is an art
She isn’t your everyday whore
She’s a liberated woman
feigning arrest by hormones
Everything takes shape in her wake
She gobbles my man like a hungry tigress
Yeah she is hungry
She hunts and thrills at her kill
Tonight I’m her prey
She takes her time
A sinister smile spreads on her lips
“This way”
I obey
She rides at top speed then slows down
Then accelerates
Then I die
She’s gone like smoke that leaves no trail
Somebody find her
I swear I would trade my mansion in heaven for the thrill of her ride

Loving Right

You are a girl who’ll be remembered for soft things;
Velvety touch,
moist lips,
Tender heart
And most importantly;
Loving the wrong man right

Bruises and clots

We will fight again tonight
Like we always do when liquor fills the receptacles of our souls
My spirits will be on vacation
With reason and gentleness as escorts
The love we’ve been weeding all these years will melt into blood under fumes of fury

Whose blood will it be?
I pray it be mine
The kitchen floor hasn’t regained its lustre
No more pints for you

I also pray the neighbours will mind our business
Save you from me
And me from the law
I hate fights
But I love make-up sex

I love how we grow tender with each other
Even before the bandages leave our wounds
In the midst of it all; the blood, the swearing, curses and regrets, remember I love you

In my own strange way

I love your sad moments and your happy days too
I love your torn lips, your bruised face, bloodshot eyes
I love your limping feet
For in these moments of darknes
When beauty vacates
Kindness grows
Generosity takes root
And we love more than the promise our looks sculpted

We will fight tonight baby
Let’s fight even harder tommorow for what shall remain of ourselves

Shh!

Birds Will Chirp
Frogs Will Crock
But my heart will never digress from

 loving you

Childhood Indulgence

The place we used to hide in is no longer a secret, they have discovered it and known the secrets it kept. Our beautiful moments flew when adulterous wives brought their men in; the charcoal notes stood the test of time—to tell tales of our childhood indulgence.

Deprived

I’m not ready, she said
You have to be, he replied
And that was final
She, left neck- deep into the mess
Chained to the ways of the land
The daughter of the lake
A man she has to take
Father’s choice
20 yrs was the age difference
She complained she had another
But gods had decided
And their will she had to obey
She had been fed enough
It was time she got disposed
An item of trade she was
And a herd of cattle was the price
Who cares:
If he loves her or not?
If her heart melts for another?
If he’ll treat her well or not?
If he had a functional engine or not?
She had to be married
To the man who’d lost sight
But still had insatiable appetite for tender flesh
The three-legged man whose backbone needed straightening
He smiles, he whispers seduction but all she thinks;
“Old man you need a mouthwash”
Who cares?
She’ll get used
A herd of cattle wasn’t a small price to pay