Because boys sound like houses.

When we were young
they named us after jobs
papa was hard, he’d beat the love
of science into your body like beating
steel into shape
Mama always carried her mouth in
her hands
which she put away when the walls
of Jericho were falling beneath our skins

Then we grew up and lovers
made towers in our mouth
we never tasted of gardens and flowers
we breathed war
our hands becoming makeshift weapons

For those of us who found love
they drowned in it
they let loose and became
molecules of sounds — beautiful sounds.

— Michael Larri Ohiorhenuan