I understand you don’t like talking sex and indoor games

when the Sun is high and the winds take on

the warmth of a kiss. Everything takes the extreme nowadays;

it’s no longer the luxury of race, religion, and politics.

But I’m bored because there’s nothing else to talk about

when the heat is high and my lips crave yours.


Our kids are in school learning new ways to take

more from the world. Do you wonder what life would

be in a century or two? There’ll be fires, floods,

droughts, and pandemics . . . oh, I forgot, you dread bad news.

You think there’ll be more love if we hope more.


We walk around and talk about paradise whenever we want;

I try to laugh loud more every time my mind

wanders away from the lair of a world beyond love.

But the heat is on and I’ve got no way


of looking away from sex, and the heat is much

and we’re afraid our bodies would rain heavily again

and the bed would be soaked and you don’t like that.


So, we sit out under the almond fanning our faces,

giggling the way foes feign smiles, thinking more of heaven


than what we feel now and will ever have. Earth.


Author: Tim Fab-Eme

Tim Fab-Eme enjoys playing with poetic forms and the themes of identity, exploitation and the environment; he loves gardening and sometimes thinks himself a farmer. Tim hopes to revisit his long-abandoned prose manuscripts and treat them the way he treats his poetry manuscripts. He lives in Rivers; his work is published in The Malahat Review, New Welsh Review, Magma; apt, The Fiddlehead and FIYAH, etc. Tim studied engineering at the Niger Delta University, and is presently pursuing a BA in English Studies at the University of Port Harcourt.

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