The eye of a man / is the mouth/ that speaks of the body/ when the tongue has been bruised.
It is the reason/ one could tell/ why the Marguerites/ in my belly still bloom in the winter / and the birds/ sing in colors/ each time we collide.
For a century of time / I have concealed this body in cavities /darker than night. And I have wore /daydreams /as threads / at mid-day.
Hoping you will feel this fire/ that burns within the cracks of me / and the wars I have lapped between our hellos and goodbyes.
I was told once that/ it is never too late /to become a new thing / to cede yourself from your body / and to dive lentinet into the strange.
And because of you / I ached to be beautiful.
To have my bones /laced with crystal/ and my flesh / textured with pschye language - like a soul mirror.
So that when you come/ reaching to me / beyond skins and dreams/ our bodies will resonate /beyond desires
And our souls/ confer in languages / beyond our knowing.
But you said to me
There was no such thing /as a love of the heart / that mirrors /are just glasses
And to you / I am nothing more than a glass.
Ogbeide O. Jesse (he/him) is an African poet and medic who loves to read and write about self poetry, love, heartbreaks, sciences and other pieces that gratify the heart. His poem is forthcoming in openwork magazine. Twitter: @ogbeidejess.