Adebayo Samuel | Skins That Sing | Poetry

Skins That Sing

i.
Just say melanin.
And I’d listen to the sky spell it out to me as: more of me.

Dig through yourself to find me under your nails
Sometimes ago, my mother compared me to a woman’s
wrapper
And I felt joyous because she found me worthy of being next to a woman’s skin.
But I am a Boy, and I am supposed to hide my desires in a boxer’s.

ii.
The third sign that I am in love with you:
I have insomnia these days, and I will my pillow to take over
where my weary eyes try to picture
the silhouette of something close to you.

I only listen to the hot breath in my ear and the wetness in my crotch
as I plunge my hands into tonight to pull your body close to mine.
Don’t call me bro. Just say I miss you.

iii.
And then I will lick your lips like I have practiced in my dreams
beside the Ocean that runs through your body.
The riot in my own body dumped, like I am lodged between you.
And then I will count your hair, and name them my name.
Here, Dorian. And then you’d smile.
Here, Dorian. And then you’d coo.
Here, Dorian. And then you’d look into my heart to see your name written in red letters.

iv.
I have always wondered what it means to sing my memories
in notes.
Tonight, the blue is grey, and it is smiling.
Like this. Trace my skin, and I’d never think to stop singing.

V.
I miss you too. But this is not enough.

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Self Exorcism

is to have conversations with the self
in a familiar body gradually forgetting
how familiar it once was.

Is to ask what the books asks you to be
Oh body owner
Is it to be confused?

But I’d rather that you know the way out:
from deep salty lakes, and desperate dreams

and forked roads that leads you to everywhere
except your own self.

Illuminate.

I mean, see what path you have drawn
for yourself before you asked to be born.

Now, escape.

I mean follow the path that would lead you beyond the
curtains of this World’s horizons. But you go back to yourself.

Don’t be scared. I’d teach you to walk
so you’d run.

And you do not stain humanity by this:
leaving yourself to meet yourself.

How welcoming can one’s own body be?
To celebrate by spasms?

Or be calm like a lake pregnant of the Moon’s reflection?

I beg you to reflect.

Now, live.

I mean, know by heart what your heart wants
and follow with your head and your leg
into someone that looks exactly like you.

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