by Logan February
We were naked and I was crying. In the sensual
world, I did a woman’s work—felt
a primordial hysteria.
The room, humid
and humming, full of my spirited
panting. The sheets I spoiled with a dirty heart.
I hid my face behind history to watch him,
apple of my teary eye.
We had torn my veil in hunger, it lay strewed
across the tiles, a glimmer illusion laced with perfume
to invoke an ancient chasm.
Why, what an awful mess
I was at that primal depth. There was so much
sweat because the power was out again. And when
I told him I was sorry,
he asked: what for?
Source: From the Rebel Issue (October 2019)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LOGAN FEBRUARY is a non-binary Nigerian poet. He and his work have been featured recently in The Rumpus, Dazed, The Guardian Life, Lambda Literary, Washington Square Review, Africa In Dialogue, and more. He is the author of In The Nude (Ouida Poetry, 2019) and three poetry chapbooks. You can find him at loganfebruary.com