“tulikuwa tunazungumza kiswahili kabla ya waarabu waje baharini”.
my father used to open my mouth to count his own teeth, he would part my lips, insert his index finger and swirl around my tongue.
we have fucked people we’d never kiss; teeth like to grow on top of each other, years of nicotine bought from the man by the roadside– fantasising about killing you, tomorrow.
lovers like to be rough, her body invites it, parting her vulva, staring deep into its insides.
i was born the morning after my death, my body does this, all the time, last night. on a night like this he walks into bodies in search of himself. every body a preparation for another.
eddy used to only want a hand job. i wake up feeling zulu, we watch the greyness of a morning that refuses to be called good, lerato has rubbed all kikuyuness out of penises that no longer do queerness, we talk about nyambura of the other night, speaking into mirrors on the vulgarity of yesteryears’ mysteries.
tonight we break down bodies, teaching ourselves the art of growing dog ears, we shall remember nights we danced to musa maritim at bars in kapsoya, on the morning after shared jebels in oljororok and nyumba tatu’s sinfulness.
his therapist no longer listens to these stories since his last trip from ukuthwasa. tomorrow, we fetch her soul from the accident scene in uitenhage.