You like me when I smell like the moon, glazed
with gunpowder & November dust. Look at
the galaxies—a canopy of angels. Here’s
a night sky: a dimmed mirror blue-fleshed into
a shack of stars. The auditioning of the blue-eyed
trinket peeling itself into wonders have begun. We’ll
wait to carry it on our arms. Do you wish to
contend an altitude with the sky? Scrub your toes
well enough, there’s going to be a walk for us
on the moon. This is about your fluorescent body
where fireflies gallop into shooting stars from a night sky.
This is about a portal of glittering louvres washing into us
from an effervescent cloud. Binye, like the moist silence
of a ghost, we’re capable of jumping into a
moving cloud, I swear we’ll not drown in a pageant of
skeletons—we can just be another moon with
ripe footprints that are worthy of lunar eclipse—where
a honeycomb of miracles shades us from the ruins of the earth.
Nwuguru Chidiebere Sullivan (he/him) is a keen writer of Izzi, Abakaliki ancestry; a Medical Laboratory Science student whose works have been nominated for both Forward Prize and Best of The Net Award. He was the winner of 2021, WAN–Cookout Journal Poetry Prize. He has works at IS&T, The Shore Poetry, B’K Mag, The Fourth River, and elsewhere. He is fond of his poorly lit room from where he tweets @wordpottersull1.
