she was jealous of my music 

constantly worrying that I valued its taste

more than I did her lips
and prayed for the words of affection

she whispered in my ear

to hold sway than the rhythms of songs in the seesaw of my heart when they take wings
true thespian  

but I hate the drama
if her man could 

see her now

brewing a mug

of hot tea and emotions for me

he’ll probably leap on things and spill my Lipton 
she said I was a better liar 

than I was poet

more than she was a nympho in a demure lady’s skin
the prelude to our duet intertwine

and we drink a draught of oblivion

in the peaceful lies 

we sleep in

and awake in dreams of lost songs
let that beat drop
this may end 

but our symphony is 

fluid as the human soul 
even when we cease to exist
cupid’s arrow in its cliche may never glaze our heel

if it does

let our song expire with the glory of Achilles
with the move-on girl and insomnia for company
and a late night playlist

at 3am


The Ride.

Hey. Kaboh. Bonsoir.

This right here is my safe space.

Journey with me, as I share my articles, short stories, and poems; all peppered with a bit of the Krio creole patois language from Sierra Leone.

Also, there will be photography done by talented individuals in the Sierra Leone creative scene.

Houston, we are ready for takeoff😉.