Atlas
•
Rounded as a dome up north
North of your nubian body
Body dripping with the flow
Flow and waves of the seas
Seas across your veins
Your veins, startled by my hands
My hands rub your inner thighs
Your inner thighs gush this spring
This spring makes the ghusl
The ghusl with which I cleanse
I cleanse myself of disbelief
Disbelief in the divine— your touch
Your touch reaches for my hard-on
My hard-on, an arsenal of war
War is how I conquer your fears
Your fears, the inhibition of a goddess
A goddess who bestowed me with wine
Wine from the depth of your pit
Your pit brews with the ooze of lust
Lust for my veins, my muscles, my flesh
My flesh encroaches your skin
Your skin is the map for my exploration
My exploration of the cosmos of your sex
Your sex, my religion, my article of faith
Faith is what brings me closer to your pulpit
Your pulpit is where I break before Iftar
Iftar is every moment with you
With you, I search the air and find God
God, they say, is everywhere
Everywhere I touch drips of your juice
Your juice I taste, I sip, I gulp
I gulp your body with fervour,
With fervour, you open your sandwich
Your sandwich, I devour, down south
Axis
•
Left of my bed lies your body
Your eyes ask me to lie with you
Like Potiphar’s wife, but would I decline
When I am not Joseph?
In your nerves I will be imprisoned
Sailing dreams of seven heavens
Each heaven is the round you will
Stay on top, and unleash your luxury
Of lust, and realities of seven layers
Across the body of earth— each layer
Is the round I will mount you, and dredge
Your crust to the core— you will
Become free, free as the overflow
Of your waters, and I will rinse my hands
And my face of every hypnosis
Every jinx and every curse
That principalities have left in me
And by the umpteenth minute
I will be crowned king of the territory
That makes your body a map
You will be the queen, my queen
Sitting, with elegance, on my right.
Ambit
•
divinity is nature in its abundance,
& nature yields herself to voices
that know her body language
& knows how to press her buttons
like a priest, I lay your opón ifá,
my hands make these chants on your bare skin
iwájú opón — I tongue your navel to sizzles/
èyìn opón — you turn around to stun me
with your bum, so I make your voice tremble—
my suckles on your stretchmarked skin
are the chants of an initiate/
àárin opón— I cast my wet buds on your clit,
you peak into oracles
manifesting with the voice of the gods—
your moan ringing in my ears
with the short syllables of my name—
Loba….
your oracle releases all inhibitions
with showers of orgasm, so I wash my face
between your thighs, you hold my head,
tightening your grip on my stubborn hair stands
I hold your legs like I hold the floor when I sujood
You become sacred in your rukooh
taking me all from your door behind
& you love it when I barge in like a burglar
religions meet at the core of your divinity
I raise your legs like I raise my hands
beside my ears to proclaim god’s eminence
because you’re stealing the show of godhood
with your sluttiness/ your whole body is the ambit
of divinity the scope of worship, where deities are
the tattoos on your body/ your seductive nuance & demeanor
are the jihad that makes me resist all sermons against your divinity
Biography
Tukur Loba Ridwan is a poet who explores the vastness and finiteness; sanctity and vanity of existence: memories, identity, creation, lust, ruins and loss. His poems appear in Gyroscope Review, Cordite Poetry Review, The African Writers Magazine, Kalahari Review, Rising Phoenix, ARTmosterrific, INKspired, Poemify Magazine, EBOquills, Libretto Magazine, Nantygreens and elsewhere. He won the Brigitte Piorson Monthly Poetry Contest (March 2018) and was shortlisted in many others, including the Collins Elesiro Poetry Prize (June 2019) and the Eriata Oribabhor Poetry Prize (2021).