by Elina Milimoh

       Stonewalls have a faint scent of orange and sulphur. Beetles are treated like dragons and newspaper a rusty blade slicing in circles through the air. Be wary. I just lost a really good poem. So these words are what remain. 

         The crumbs of a beautiful piece of work inspired by a beautiful woman who took the front seat on my emotional rollercoaster. She did not smell like oranges, but like a water soaked bark of an ancient oak . Her short vined dreadlocks dressed with curly edges and her hazel light eyes that Faintly mirrored my affection back at me. 

          Maybe she thought I was beautiful too which is why I reflected back in her eyes. The words exchanged were more like husky breaths we traded in commerce. 

          Nothing but sales pitches lined with empty promises. I told her she was pretty, which was an understatement. Her response was unintelligible and stipple. If only I could sacrifice a few more breaths, a few more clicks of my tongue, one more curve in my lips. I’d give it to her for free. No charge, no commerce. Only the blessing I’ve masked within my language