Myrrh

Not a church
girl she was
secular.

My poetry is
a metaphor for
the unknown.
Known to
none but me.

Your heart beats
out of bounds infinitely.
Infidelity taunts me.

I see men slamming
her, an’ taking her
to the sewer.

Out goes the
braids, in comes
the weave.

My dignity
is my pride.

It’s hurts
but I never
show.

But I bring
her home for
extra
candle-loving,
because
she’s far
from the usual.

© Dotun Gb | Poems