My Rival, Rage

He thinks I do not know, my lover. He thinks I am able to ignore the rancid breath of the cold that kisses my skin when Oloworimi steals away from my bosom in the grey of night.

My love cowers in a corner at those times, orphaned by its obvious failure to keep Oloworimi in my arms till morning spreads her wrapper over nights beard.

He Steals away as if to keep some clandestine appointment...