I got laid in Lagos,
Me, the yeo-layman looking,
looking,
looking lost with lust in my luscious eyes,
lots of ladies, ladies of the lot,
loitering along, labouring alot,
alas,
leading and licking losers longing for love.
Alluring Laide with the lewd laps,
a lavish labia lacking alarm,
lying lips, flapping lids,
locking lips in the low-light late,
Lucifer's lair on the dusking light,
today laid my loins liquidating my libido.
And now at this liturgy for Lent,
looking lost in a long loose lapper,
look, it's Laide leading the lots,
liage of the Lord to the last supper,
leashed, laced, lighter than Lisa's load.
I got laid in Lagos,
no longer the layman from last morning,
now, lowered into the lagoon of lascivity here,
l lay lowly lurking in this liars' love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem