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By Wisdom Mumera

The room is impotent
Giving birth to nothing.
I’m seated beyond her thighs,
That are bland with a virgin sterility
Hoping for a mew of feeling.

My head hangs empty
The paper still white
Waiting for my stroking
To awaken color in her.

The hands have no feeling
Lost for direction upon the body
They hang limpid, without heat.

Night
Bleary eyed night
Drowsy from many drinks
Tottering in the neon shade.
Shadows all around
Seeking to reign before day.

Groans in the armpits of land
Fathers satiating the lustful nerves
Before the sun with morals rises.
Gleanings of virtue from the day
Wilt in the scorching heat
Of sultry wares
Bare to be taken
In unions so fake.

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