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Muted Conversations II

So this week, which actually ended yesterday has been one of the quietest low-key weeks for me in recent times. It has been a week of reflections for me which may thaw into the coming weeks because I'm still in it. There is this need to detoxify my thoughts and there are two ways in which this has worked for me effectively. Okay, not really two ways but one way, the second is enshrouded in the first. One is solitude, the second is listening to Hillsong but not the normal way you guys listen to it. I usually have to tune the volume way down till it seems as if the song is coming from distant space. It gives the feeling of me listening to an inner voice. Silent but speaking from within....far away... in an atmosphere of utter silence.
However, its been a week of low key reflections when i witnessed a strange occurrence about me and the poems i write.
 
Okay, like most of you guys know. I write poems (some of which i wouldn't regard as poems but you guys insist it is) and i made a new friend few days ago who is also a poet. Yes, a prolific one at that.
It all began with trivial talks about issues surrounding NYSC and the likes of them when the conversation drifted to poetry and she told me how she did a spoken word piece in camp for Miss NYSC which she happened to be a contestant. In my thoughts I was like "okay, what does this one know now" and curiously asked her to tell me about the poem. I was numbed at her performance. "OMG!!! this babe sabi oh". She did a couple of other poems she's written and my head almost imploded with bewildering astonishment.
I told her i was also a poet but not as good as she was but she insisted its a lie, that she would love to see my poems. I reluctantly gave her my phone to see some i posted on my blog and that's when the strange experience began.
 
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Note: The following series of sentences may contain words that may suggest feelings of sensuality with erotic embellishments to your imaginative tendencies. Readers discretion is advised.
 
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She began with a love poem i wrote sometime in 2015 and when she began, the words began to come alive. I could see them in my thoughts coming together to form a beautiful and naked woman, with skin radiant with melanin fervor. This girl, i mean my friend seemed like an herbalist, conjuring the words with a tonality so seductive, mild and thin to form this woman in my mind. As she was reading, this figure came closer and hugged me. Her lips touched mine, nipples were firm as she pressed them on my chest, sending shock waves from my brain down to my spine. We grinded our groins into grains of ecstacy till we achieved orgasm, in its silk and powdered form.
 
I had just made love to my words, and it was the most exhilarating experience ever.
Now i want her to read most of my poems to me when I'm about going to bed, even if it means paying her. No one has ever read my poems to me the way she did. She holds this record now and i hope she keeps to it. I'm yet to let her know of my reading proposal, i doubt it will be feasible but who knows, with faith, miracles happen.

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