Written by Olowonjoyin Muhammed

Wrinkles have a way of telling bodies about how
they’ve mastered the art of wearing garments of
ages and time

& they etch themselves on skins with a letter that
portrays how colourful memories char into soot &
get clouded by the unforgiving garments of time

& how minds become archives, and bodies, museums
that house love and lost love and death and smiles and
dead dreams and faded fervors that refused to get
resuscitated

& how hollows greet bones and weariness plants betrayal
kisses on ligaments and ocular muscles

& how bodies start to recede into nothingness because
each step taken and each time air whistles over the wrinkles,
an angel of death hones a scythe above their heads.