We were eaten by lions
Look at the papyrus table on the patio, the box of cigarettes, a gray ashtray,
such a lord you are curving smoke from those lips, glasses bending along our assisted line of vision, a new flower-bed wet with our licking,
I tell you about all the furniture along Ngong Road, my home will be like your smile,
inhabiting sadness and lip balm from yesterday’s dare. Your face afflicts me, the reckless carvings of your frame, biting my tongue. Touch the white part of a fresh wound
A lot happens beneath our skins and colors come forth but we know not of such wavelengths,
allude to Nairobi in the ‘80s because everything else has been eaten by lions.