We licked our hands till papa comes back.
That was the joy of friendship.
Wish to go back at that youthful age.
Nne, that was my first time
Seeing sweat dripping out of your nose.
The handwork of okra soup is super powerful.
You made me cook it frequently.
My eye itches me a lot.
Because your Alligator pepper is an Evaporated perfume.
You never cease to Amaze me.
When we eat together, I get hungry more.
Your witty eyes grind me in a monstrous way.
My saliva turns to salt.
That your sweet okra soup , is one of cultural heritage.
Kudos to perfect girl like Nne,
Because the Atoms of that okra soup invites the dead,
To a ceremonial wake up call.
Leave a comment below
Who knew Okra soup could be symbolism for unity? Nice poem, Oriel.
Nice poem. Very catching
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