It is not the moon, I tell you. It is these flowers lighting the yard.
I hate them. I hate them as I hate sex, the man’s mouth sealing my mouth, the man’s paralyzing body—
and the cry that always escapes, the low, humiliating premise of union—
In my mind tonight I hear the question and pursuing answer fused in one sound that mounts and mounts and then is split into the old selves, the tired antagonisms. Do you see? We were made fools of. And the scent of mock orange drifts through the window.
How can I rest? How can I be content when there is still that odor in the world?
Welcome to The grey clover. My name is Mayowa. I'm a physiotherapy student. I am also a lover of Literature, Arts, Science and technology. I have several interests which includes writing poetry, photography, fashion designing and there are still much more things I hope to learn. Thanks for stopping by!
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The grey clover 