Portrait of Self as a Boy (S/Th)inking (i/o)n Burna Boy's Last Last Song Playing on (Un)Known Radio Station

perhaps my aching heart will get soothed.

by (danc/pump)ing in rhythm to the resounding

voice of burna boy. hammering onto my

goatish ears "na everybody go chop breakfast."

i remember vowed never to love again

in this life or afterlife, if there was any,

yet i stumbled into the pitch-dark pit of your love.

one minute you stretched down your tender

arms. next minute you retracted them & ditch

me like the previous ones did. leaving me

to nurse this scorching love that flows in my shattered

heart. now my tongue ceases not bleeding into

the reminiscence of your body. honeying into music in

the dark hollow of my mouth. i know my greatest

frailty, gifting my trust, always boomerangs i'm

just more of a jejune. after writing this poem

& done listening to last last. i'm bound

to sink. yet again. into this joyless little sofa

with hands fumbling to unwrap another pack

of cigarettes. & fall into sour remembrance of

your steff london curvy ebony glowing body.

then wash everything down with a calabash

of palm wine & the next & the next. till i

fall, yet again, into the abyss of depression