I could remember yesterday,
When we hid in dark places to whistle to girls.
We have a percular sound of whistle they understood…
Those ones coming from boys with the same fragrances as they do in the fall of dusk.
We chased girls without their panties on
We planted a corner by the side of mother’s Hut;
Learning how to finger their thought behind dark loneliness cause they loved our roughness.
The goats bleat at us during this difficult act,
The cock learnt to frown at our disturbance
but they enjoyed every laughter echoing from our moaning and groaning …
We made them forget their senses & giggled
sheeply as we penetrate into the blind spot of
Make love to their emotions without their knowledge.
Mother once told us that girls are rivers,
Father said they are easily deceived into falling into buckets and cups.
We banked on this ocean of words and advices,
We legged out our pleasures & allowed them to flow on the stream of our feelings.
These were the testimonies timing the same
heat in the mating of the sheep in their pen.
Life was interesting holding a weak girl in your arms,
Life was wonderful having girls moaned softly
in your arms.
Knowing how much she could not survive without your smile.
Knowing how much she could not let go of those roads you constructed in her heart.
We turned our bodies into aches of maps, a fire,
Sipping cold from old silence in their eyeshadows.
The uli on their eyes made the universe glamour for a taste of them.
We drove insanity into the holes that held their thighs together trying to find where in their space holds broken dreams.
Deeper we went until the result came which left our parents speechless!
Of these closed doors we harboured our own blood to the spilling wind orchestrizing our memories.
Life is now a music, a note of lyrics written for the lost girls found in a brothel searching for a virgin boy.