-Alfred Olaiya

innocence a lake in

her eyes; men drown.

stars plucked from her skin

dye the night, but she ate the ‘t,’

replaced the ‘y’ with ‘i’ till

longings die nigh her tighs.

yet, that’s not Kòfó.

she melts every ice cream

before they get to her,

you couldn’t blame her–

she’s a sunshine to a dark world.

she ate the moon’s yolk &

painted its rays on her face,

that she may need no

fireflies incisions on her scars.

yet, that’s not the Kòfó i know.

Kòfó is grains of words stubbornly 

gripping the veins of my hand,

refusing to be written.