Epa domo, I greeted Papa Ikpomwosa, our neighbour. Esosa, welcome, my son.Una don get holiday? The old man asked. Yes, Epa, we are on Easter break. Oh-0h! exclaimed the old man, welcome home, my son. How body? Fine, Epa, I said and started walkinghome briskly, mama would be expecting me. I got home and called, Mama!Mama! Mama came out and when she saw me, I saw the joy on her face, she ran to hug me, and started shedding tears, I cleaned mama's tears and told her to stop crying. Indeed, the death of oghowen is taking its toll on mama, mama was no longer the lively woman she used to be, she was looking old and frail. Our father had died in a ghastly road accident when I was barely three years old, I don't have any memories of my father, mama was pregnant with oghowen. Papa's family members threw mama and I out of our home and mama had to be the only one fending for us. I grew up seeing mama as a very hardworking ...
Let me lie on my back with my legs up, In this open space, where our witness is the galaxy. Be prepared, for this is an art with no clothes on, An art with moans as our melody. Opened hearts, shut heads, Opened space, shut eyes. Shut the head, let it do a job in between my legs. Shut the eyes, do not keep them on the prize, For the prize is bright and can make you go blind, It is an explosion but it is not fire, Explosion of juices from my yin and your yang. You are the artist, I am the art, Your tools are your mouth and your hands, Your heart and your pen. Get them ready, let's act some art. With your mouth, soak my mouth in art, With your hands, place me to be a fine art, With your heart, feel the joy of this artistry, And with your pen, draw me. And when the work is finished, We can call it the art of orgasm.