Poetry

UNTITLED By Sanni Omodolapo

Written by Editor

My Biology teacher was, 

by all standards, a failure. 

An astute failure. 

She gave me next to nothing. 

For instance, she 

didn’t teach me about 

the female physiology & 

what it does to the male 

psychology, 

or that 

the body of a woman is a 

planet full of secret spots 

pullulating with undiscovered 

continents & amorphous desires

or that 

I could see, if I looked very closely, 

on 

the skin of a woman, my future,

naked, bare, exposed —

that woman, with her broken 

teeth & perpetually bloodshot

eyes 

never told me that 

God is the greatest sculptor 

that ever will be 

or that 

of all things in heaven & 

on Earth, 

the most delicate are the

twin mounds of flesh on…

I curse her every day

when I sleep 

when I eat 

when the night covers me 

in its shadows & 

when the sun blinds me 

with her effulgence 

she didn’t tell me that, beyond 

the drawings of the Reproductive 

System in Essential Biology, 

there is something else, something

more real, something soft, something 

moist, and so on. 

she didn’t tell me about deep-

throated moans & climax—

at least the Literature teacher 

told me that was the point of

HEIGHTENED 

tension, the peak of things 

better felt, if you get me

Today, I sit in the dark,

breathing fast, a photo in 

my left hand, sweating, blending

with the darkness.

About the author

Editor

Bada Yusuf Amoo holds B.A in Literature in English from Obafemi Awolowo University, he is the publisher of thespeakingheart.com. He started the website in 2015, he has published both his works and other budding writers and poets on the website. He is a public commentators and his articles are on different websites.