KYAU!

Yana yi man magana, amma ba na jin sautin kalmomin, yana magana labbansa na motsi.

“Ikon Allah.”

Can sai labbansa suka daina motsi, sai ya daga girarsa da alamar tuhuma.

Ga alama na yi subutar baki.

Sai na taba shi, na yi masa ishara , alamar ya ci gaba.

Sai labbansa suka fara motsi kuma, sai dai idonsa kawai nake gani, kwayar idon na haske, suna kyalli, tatas, kamar yadda gogaggen gilashin mota yake yi idan ruwan sama ya auka masa.

Fuskarsa duk tabo da kuraje, bula-bulan kuraje da ke ciki, wani lokaci ni ke matsar su, suna ruwa.
Sai ya yi murmushi, har sai da labbansa suka bayyana karkatattun hakoransa, kai, munanan hakora dai.

Amma murmushinsa kamar hasken fitila mai kawatawa, cike da soyayya, kuma har zuci.

Wannan karon sai na ce “tir”, amma a makure cikin raina.

“Wannan bai dace da ni ba, amma kuma shi ne nawan ai.”
BEAUTY!

He is talking to me, I don’t hear the words though his lips are moving.

“Wow!”

His lips stop and he raises his brow in askance.

It came from my lips.

I touch him and urge him to go on.

His lips begin to move again but I only see his eyes, washed shiny bright eyes, so clear, like the just wiped windscreen of slow moving car in steady rain.

His face has zits and nicks, great big juicy pimples he allows me to sometimes squeeze.
Then he smiles, his full lips drawn back to reveal crooked teeth, ugly teeth really.

But his smile is like a beam of warm orange light, intimate and true.

This time I say “damn” softly under my breath.

He is all wrong but it’s all mine.

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