A chip off the old block, you belong to antiquity.
When I first heard about you, I chose not to believe.
Like the doubting Thomas, I decided to look the other way.
Until I happened upon you myself.

Slim, sleek like the ivory, you were yet full to the brim.
You bore the content searched after, for you are the holy grail.
The nectar of the gods, the blood of the lord himself.
You own the chalice, I own the phallus, let’s put this blood to work.



Babatunde Adeleke is a journalist, poet and content curator who finds expression on words.

When he is not writing, reading or thinking of what next to write, he is chatting or having fun.
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Categories: Poetry

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