Congo Black House

This is where we buried her

The little girl who loved you

With damaged teeth and cracked skin we let her down softly

We glued the letters she sent you till we dressed her in romantic inked papers

We dug a place by the window

Where she sat to watch you

And you brought flowers; plantain leaves from the next house

It’s hard to recognize me; I look so different dead

Younger, softer, warmer: yellow

This was suppose to be a union

From kisses stolen behind the door to rough insecure touches in front of it

She was ready to tell you the secret between her thighs

But the next day // You came with a new girl, and the funeral begun

I killed , you killed, we killed

My yellow self

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