Tap tap, tap tap tap, tap.

Tap tap.

Boy meets girl.

Tap tap tap.

Tap tap tap.

Boy falls for girl
girl falls for boy.
Conversation starts off awkward and coy,
ends with smileys with asterisks and toes in a curl.

Cracks and crevices.

I get lost in the depth of your dimples
Your smile shows your crooked teeth
Their jagged edges remind me of my stitched up heart.

Blood stained eyes never looked clearer.
The galaxy that is your iris
Swallows me whole

I mapped constellations by the pimples on your face
Orion looked out of place

The nicotine on your lips
Set mine ablaze

My gasoline soaked fingers
Ignite at your mere touch

First date

A loud long fart broke the silence...
Louder than the passing ambulance sirens.
I laughed,
she lunged,
muffling an "I'm sorry"
but that couldn't stop the stench
that was in the air, drenched.
We didn't finish our coffee,
we COULDN'T finish our coffee.
So we decided to walk
and talk
and joke
and just maybe,
put that behind us, as we walked...

Legs : 3 Poems by 3 Poets

Never ending
Like the Burj Khalifa
But you don't look up
You look on
        And on
        And on
Wondering of where they end.

Slender, then less
              Then less
              Then less
Then even less than that.
The girth
Is not to be confused with fat

                          ~ ecks

Always hidden in trousers
Wait I've spotted some in shorts
Gastrocnemius not massive as I alway thought
                                        ~ Bess Khaoya

A pair of legs approached a pair of legs. The first pair was skinny, wearing blue jeans and unlaced rubber shoes. The second pair: covered in black leggings under a knee-high skirt, capped off by brown leather boots.
The first pair: restless, and the second pair, composed.

As legs and legs engaged in conversation, i sat still and pondered on the beginning of a love story. Leg love.
                                                       ~Jude Mutuma

3 Poems by Moraa Ong'angi


for some, there are truly  empty spaces,
truly. For others, there are no empty spaces,
just unfulfilled promises and unsatisfied desires,
coupled by under attention fed by deficient affections
and what was once love- trailing as crumbs; 
trailing and whirling. Crumbs and more crumbs,
trailing and whirling to form voids that feel like empty spaces.

“synthetic” – new age love

Redder lips, higher heels,
Synthetic weaves, tighter jeans
I want you to love me,
but you will love the higher,
the redder and  the tighter
I know that you will not love not me.


Like sand running down in an hour glass
Right through your heart, through your fingers,
You let me slip like grains of sand,
Down to the earth from whence I came.
Still, I breathe. Still I breathe.

©Moraa Ong'angi 2013

Moraa can be found on Twitter @OneMoreDaisy and her blog One More Daisy