Bolu Babalola

Ọṣun knew that, when they were together, Ṣàngó drowned in her, died and came back to life in her, and that when their hips rolled together, it was stormy waves; almighty, thrilling, terrifying. She knew she tasted like honey and liquor and that she left him both satiated and insatiable, tipsy, and all at her whim.

Ọṣun was used to being looked at, but, from this moment, she would become used to being seen.

he kissed me; because it was in public, it was quick, but quick did not mean passionless. He kissed me and I felt like I’d drunk a whole row of the supermarket’s finest wines. My knees were weak. He kissed me and my second favourite pair of jeans automatically fit me better, curved around me better when his hand filled the back pocket. He kissed me, slipped a little tongue into my mouth, just a little promise, enough flavour to make me ravenous,