That Peek Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

O eye hurling off an arrow
of love to hook me
into a ripple that danced with me
on soft waters
to the shade of a riverside.

The ogle flew at me
like a chartreuse piece
of stropped-dagger lightning
rubbed against air

and struck by a matchstick
on the phosphorus sulfide
of night's sandy skin.

The flashy beryl dagger
landed with a slant
to slash me into specks
of myself
crawling within me to the edge
of my cliffy brows.

Like a parade of ants
marching onto the foot
of their mountain kingdom,
as it rises into the tower
of a cathedral of termites
they've displaced.

(ii)

O glowing anthill rising,
rising by a tree
breathing out nectar
from the swelling nipples of fruits
to pull in more files
of soldier ants from a lover's peek.

The ants from a pulling
retina and iris all march
on my runway, a hairy chest
with the feathers
of a swelling, drooling dove

bound for the eyeballs
that threw the sharp pointed peek
at me, a high basket
that swallowed
a dunk from gluing eyes.

O arrow still piercing me
from a lime star
in the castle of a moonlit night
pouring out cream
showers of love to fall
on the sagging night of a man.

(iii)

O rock-crowned boulder
of a Brobdingnagian
from the hot lion's mouth
of war roaring through
smoky lace and alabaster air
and crimson skies of blood,

as muzzles ignite birds' feathers
into fires across villages
sinking into shadows of wallowing
memories. But mine stands

on the bust of a monument
by a fountain
shooting out jets of water
to cleanse ether
high up on ladders of a rising sky
to a firmament
building its floor on my brow.