Those who say our kind of love
have not met you and me.
It happened quickly, a long night
and twenty-four hours
to seal our fates.
They don’t know how I break;
how the inflection in your voice
is the only rhythm my heart understands.
They’ve not even heard your voice!
How can they judge so easily, Ladi,
when they’ve not heard the firmness
when you said that night my
world was crumbling, ‘Don’t cry’
and I wiped my eyes with my palm?
Yes, I cried. Perhaps it would shock them
I cried for you, and for me
I cried for everything.
They ought to see me now
writing this poem.
Is it too early to want a lifetime with you?
But the thought crosses my mind every day.
Perhaps a miracle will happen and
we’ll show them what love is,
rub it in their faces like mud,
shove it down their throats
Until they choke on their words,
how two boys can be happy together,
and free as when the breeze
lifts a piece of paper from the earth
and guides it through thin air.
And this what I’ve been trying to say,
because if they say I can’t love you
then they’ve not learnt about love