Before Orgasm
A rich, round horse gallops,
gliding through plains sown with imaginary topaz.
A fifth course or an adventure,
bouncing off a buffet,
cups passed in elevenses, an elephant
to cleave a thigh with ale.
Dusk approaches, riding the backs of returning clouds.
A nod, a yawn, a lap,
the fiercest storm,
spooned into stillness.
– F.Omosola
