Read Time:1 Minute, 20 Second
Current I
The ocean is rarely polite.
It shows up like that ex who still has your spare key,
slides its cold hands up your legs, like,
“Remember me?”
Water reads my ankles like a receipt,
checks every place I’ve been running from.
Some days it flirts,
flicks foam at my calves, giggles.
Other days it grabs my whole name
and tries to drag it to international waters.
I plant my feet;
too stubborn
to let anything pull me under
without buying me dinner first.
The tide keeps talking.
I keep listening
with my whole body,
learning how to sway
without disappearing.
Current II
You walk up
and my body already knows
which way the water is trying to go.
No tsunami,
just a low-key hum
under the skin,
like when the bass hits right
and your bones say
“oh, there you are.”
I touch your forearm,
feel the current do a cartwheel.
The whole Atlantic Ocean
shrinks down to this one spot
where your pulse
and my pulse
decide to speak the same language.
No dramatic crash.
Just two bodies
recognizing
they've been flowing
toward each other
this whole damn time
and finally
got tired of pretending
they weren’t.
Babatunde Adeleke is a Nigerian writer, poet, and PR professional whose work blends emotional clarity with a strong sense of place. His works have appeared in Lion and Lilac, Kalahari Review, WildSound, Erogospel, PunPoet, SpringNG, and several anthologies, including Today I Choose Joy and For Those Who Find Love. He is the author of the chapbook Origami, Pleasure Field and writes the weekly series Eros on Sundays, where he explores mysticism, body-memory, and the sacred dimensions of erotic experience.
