REACHING FOR YOU On some mornings it's across the office door And on some evenings it's beside the bedroom wall But there is no form of respite I seem to get from mulling over on all of the love that I have been given for which I cannot say how much i really deserve and there is no real recess from dwelling introspectively on the love I have thrown away and watch the one who'd give a limb walk out of the door in exhaustion.
My back yearns on more hours than one For the late weekend evenings where you would scribble your term papers on it because I could not afford tables in that old apartment with its tiny curtain And my left shoulder twitches now and then reminding me that thirty months have passed since the strands of your hair rested there
whenever you dozed off after the movies No, you don't have to tell me who he is Or whether he succeeds in eliciting similar sounds from you as I did Surely, I could do without the sorrow that knowledge brings.
I know you have probably resolved that no more will I get to hear so much as one syllable of your voice But for some reason I exercise faith as i dial your number the 68th time those digits stuck to the walls of my mind that you just decide to hear me out even if only for a fraction of a minute and I know that one more gaze into your eyes is in many ways too much to ask but for joint baths and blankets once shared Please don't let caller tunes play to futility yet again
Jerry Chiemeke is an editor, culture critic and lawyer. His works have appeared in The Question Marker, Agbowo, The Pangolin Review, Inlandia Journal and elsewhere. Jerry lives a secluded life in Lagos, Nigeria. He is an advocate for mental health awareness.
Facebook : www.facebook.com/I.J.Chiemeke
Twitter : @J_Chiemeke
Instagram : @J_Chiemeke
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