I
How can I be so sure I am letting you go?
The cigarette on my breath
The mole on my breast
Just as inseparable
Just like you are
Just as me
How I hope I will forget you,
Not pine for your voice
Not wait for your call
Your touch
Your kiss
Your love
II
I shall morph into a bird,
Like Philomela, like Tejimola,
Like mythical women in lore.
I shall sing of the raw wound
Rotting in the hollow of my skull.
Singing on a bald tree in a water flooded field
Singing in the dusk to an empty sky.
