This thing

This thing, whatever it is, was like standing on a precipice with one foot dangling in the air

A breeze too strong and I’d be toppling down into the tempestuous sea below

This thing that had hatched in my belly and fluttered to my heart

Arrested my mind, my thoughts, my dreams; made me a prisoner of what could be

This thing that was festering like a sore attended by flies

How could I shout ‘be calm!’ and the rage of whatever this thing was would subside?

It was this thing that was putting a wedge between me and him.

It wasn’t cool that we were best friends spending too much time together

It made it harder to abort this thing that like a foetus had latched its placenta to my heart

It was uncanny how much of him I really began to notice

Like how his left eye would twitch when he was telling a lie or 

How he would tear up when laughing at a joke

Or the fact that his right canine had a tinge of yellow, like gold in a sea of pearly whites

But most particularly how his eyes lingered on me when he thought I was not watching.

Often times he would spend the night over in my bed

Shirtless, cuddled close to me

Sometimes I would feel his fingers wander when he thinks I am asleep

How they’d draw circles on my arm, trace the outline of my face and 

Graze the bumps on my nipples

He kissed my nape once, a wet kiss, so soft

If not for the fear of everything that could go wrong I would have sighed.

This thing that I cannot name was like a cancer, stage 4

It was too late to do anything about it, really,

It had poisoned my blood and left me on life support

Life support indeed, I clung on to it desperately like a buoy to a drowning man

I hated the longing, the bitter yearning, the scream stuck in my throat

I want you. I want whatever the fuck this is. I want this thing with you.

But did he want the same?

It was a hot Saturday afternoon at his place

Hell hath no fury like the harmattan heat

We lay beneath an open window staring at the bird making its nest in the tree branch

Birds have no worry; they take life like the breeze beneath their wings and just go with it

Que sera, sera I guess

I suppose he was thinking same, probably lost in thought

When he began to doodle on my arm

Que sera, sera I guess when he turned to me with that lingering look in his eyes

Que fucking sera when with the swiftness of an asp he planted his lips on mine.

His lips were silk pillows

His lips were like honeyed wine

His lips were what mothers warned daughters not to attempt

His lips were Delilah seducing Samson

His lips were the Songs of Solomon played by an orchestra

His lips were sin, decadence

And indulge, I did

But…

‘What is this thing?’ 

‘Whatever you want it to be’ 

‘What if I have no name to call it?’ 

‘Let’s call it desire, let’s call it want, let’s call it pleasure, but most importantly, let’s call it love’

‘Love’

Now I could name this thing that sat in my chest like an angry god – love

So I kissed him again

I drank deep of his honeyed wine

I offered all this thing – love – had left pent up in my chest

I gave it all as best a man could love another man

And I swear I heard the heavens sigh.

February 15, 2023