On This Carpet Poem by Simpa Omoluabi

Two new moons are formed
when a circle eclipse a circle.

When two revolutions have a set
in union of their axis,
an icthus of the cycles,
then we have the crescents touching
at their edge, hinged at intersects,
points of mitosis.

I come many days back to a bottle green
I have emptied of wine, after I had left it
by a corner of the room.
I lift and rest its neck upon the bow of Eros
and now it is filled with the smell of honey.

I can make a perfume withdraw
her clothes; under which is a woman
in a flimsy dress, embarrassed by
a gnawing rain.

I can retreat the blouse of a song
when I want to; make her cry
the uncried pain of the stifled incipience:

no one weeds the weeds
that were natally lifted,
no obituary for the beauty
killed in the caterpillar.


Copyright © 2018 On This Carpet by Simpa Omoluabi