Sweet and pale were the lips I kissed
Beneath the araba tree,
At the center of the Palala garden,
In what seemed the old orchard.
There lay Melissa, on the soft carpet of grass,
With her protruding defense mechanism
And her snow-white feet.
Her hips were nothing short of exceptional.
Methinks, God created thee on a Ghost Town,
For such art needs a free day to craft.
Then came the proviso scene,
To which we enacted, perfectly void of incompatibilities.
A free ride, a sure future, and a bright one.
As in the canon of human existence,
Even as I read Directo in Soa,
I heard Tchuffo in International Law
Declare with serene clarity:
'For an accord to bind,
There must be reciprocity.'
And for mine and Melissa's,
Our lips itched to converge
And bind our comradeship.
So, with trembling arms and hearts,
We drew closer to each other,
And when our eyes were but an inch apart,
I beheld the fresh fullness of her mouth.
And in compliance with all,
We did—lip to lip,
Saliva to saliva, flesh to flesh.
Not long after, I realized
The lips I kissed
Were sweet and pale.
NDIMANCHO T.
NYOWIKEH
20th April 2026
Up-station Bamenda
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem