Abisola Mojeed | Heathrow

I open my eyes to search for where the Gods have placed you.

The moon, a natural satellite in the sky, entrances

the blue dots of your nerve-settling belt.

Clouds underneath this heavy metal machine pulsate and turn over

on itself almost as if your footsteps are soothing the roars

of the powder puff pillows.

Is this the way the blue seas reacted

as you walked over them to reach Lemnos without sight?


The love child of Poseidon birthed from a lonely farmer’s oxen.

O great hunter, I’m new to this part of the world

and I can keep you company

where the skies meet the heavens.


Dawn approaches and she makes you fade from me.

This is the curse born under Scorpio.


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