The Milton Review

Outside this Planet, Have You Seen a Movie Depicting a Planoconvex Love?

Israel Okonji

there will be squalls in mayfair tonight — a jazz club, you know, she said, releasing her thumb from her phoneʼs screen. the sun stood over the gates of the town. she dogged the switch to cause the bulbʼs miscarriage of light — that moment, her arm was accidentally a makeshift noun for a spear like in a totoʼs video when her bookshelf became a coward with three books on the floor facing the lips of the kitchen counter. she learnt how to name slow things. like the earth, she spins but to a descending note of her boyfriendʼs piano as it was noon already. on that shore, the river of lovemaking was right before their rhinestone eyes. after they knew how light their bodies were, she woke up to the eiderdownʼs reflection of shame — she then buried his name under her toothpaste. the ball at mayfair was becoming a slow thing to her. she studied the town, it has swaggered monuments called forgetfulness. the screen dozed & woke to her image in a hairdressing spree. she ordered for his appearance in his jalopy. she was engaged to him after he felt dried enough to push the jalopy. he was drenched after sucking the monkey. the radioʼs song parted the sea in his head. now, this is my favorite fragment off their infamous dialogues — where should we go to harvest butterflies on our skin? he asked. she said, letʼs get to savile row, the father of my dress for the ball stays there. in that dialogue, i learnt about the shamelessness in expressing dichotomy. like them, were two patrol cars daring to claim the townʼs green billboard like they were in a gorillazʼs video. it revved — the coupleʼs turpentine desire — their limp ivories, & koumpounophobia after a silent glossolalia for their hormones. they found another river for lovemaking after the car vomited their journey. the screen faded & woke to her face on a pocket mirror. dusting faint ink to her brows, bill withersʼ Just the Two of Us became alive when he opened his rocking jalopy, after he searched for a song that represented the unconditional exercises of their desires. he remembered they were in the woods. the woods was like other woods. but it was so silent that it developed the tongue of a parrot. it can pop decibels to what comes out of them.

Israel Okonji (He / Him) is a Southern Nigerian artist of poetry, storytelling & music. He is published @ Brittle Paper, Bruiser Magazine, Midsummer Magazine, Wasteland review — & forthcoming ones @ Hiareth zone, Querencia Pressʼ anthology. He listens to music ranging from Nas, the Wu-Tang Clan to Chris Brown, Alicia Keys. He hopes to fulfill his dream of collecting records like Craig Kallman. He has a special place for Brit actress Emma Watson & American singer / dancer Normani in his heart. He tweets @izrltrcz.

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