by Taiwo Hassan Aleksandr Popov from a friend’s WhatsApp Status on 23/10/21–12:14 in this poem, a boy is a butterfly, joy replacing his (wings) nakedness, ready to pollinate the world with full smiles, with reflections of wholeness. he sets out to be a testament of bloom, to be a mirror of a stranger’s void, a wall smeared by the rays of a morning sun, to be everything that speaks the language of lushness. but how does one convince these pregnant clouds to not carry ironies,