The Man Below Poem by Chris Ogunlowo

I remember that day
When you aborted my sleep
with your philtred scent

First to wake was the man below
whose startling alertness
could cause riotous ripples in a sea of bathing maids

The man above, beholding
the lofty swaying hips,
the sensuous lips,
dashed after you like a beast at a flirting prey

these restless fingers are now bored
of cupping those frontal lobes
I'm even sick of those lusty lips

When will you shuck off
your iron pants