A THIRST FOR WHISKEY by Eze Chisom

I think sometimes of the first night,

Of whiskey-laced breaths,

And how we found each other

In the belly of that reggae

Nightclub: a room made lust, elegant

Throats and reaching hands, thrusting

Thighs and quivering

Buttocks. Loose silver strung around

Your waist, a choker drinking

My neck, the highpoint of your face

Shining blue-black with errant light. They were

Playing Koffee and

Your hips were a winding road. I should have gathered

The sacrament of your black body in my hands,

Steadying, steadying, steading,

Unafraid that the rest of that room would see

In us, something ungodly:

A woman, finding in another, something

That resembles god.

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Chisom Eze is a writer, poet and artist living in Port Harcourt. Finifugal, he has a taste for endings that resemble beginnings, and his writing explores themes such as boyhood, love, identity, cultural appropriation and resistance. Chisom’s writing has been featured in the Martello Magazine, Healthline Zine, Akwódee Magazine and is forthcoming in other places.