Body made flesh & dwelling among us, the sweet-smelling savor of a breathless sacrifice. There is a street where the righteous lick their fingers, sweet as sin. Shallot sounds like a name used to describe a sex worker. Mathematically speaking, shallots are crossdressers who are often ≠ onions + garlic. This flirtation is garnish. There is a joint in the east with layers that men go to cry. Perhaps this writing is an exotic dance. Garlic belongs everywhere except morning breath. A young girl hates poetry because the language is too flowery, but she accepts the scribblings of a lover. A dried flower is also a spice & is this wilting not also a poem? This poem may be about everything you {___} about godliness, a body is fundamentally flesh. Sometimes heaven is not a dwelling place, it is only an aroma, like shallot / like onions / like garlic. Let’s end all prayers here.
This poem is an excerpt from A Body in Spice, published by Akashic Books (2025) as part of the Kumi Na Moja: New-Generation African Poets limited-edition box set.