The Question Marks Book Spa Otatade Okojie

It is a dream that lures you near, a dream that pricks upon your wound, bleeding you of all your passions,tainting your flesh as though it were virgin fabric. Do you succumb to this dream, twisting riveted in all its madness, do you lose yourself in all the wonder and all the imaginings of castles upon sky.

To my North to my West, From my foot and to my breast, dream I will sing of thee, romance thee ,with a sweet siren song,weep in shadows,sob in corners ,harrang you in clusters, for we belong. This tide of reality that keeps us appart, devastating my elastic springs, upon this dream I lay a shrine of thoughts, hoping words bring action to thee. For upon my plate I saw it, upon my chair I saw it,seated at my table I saw it, the ghost of many days gone by. Hearken one cannot lie to a fleeting self, whose transfixed by a fading moon.