There’s a right way to love Tems, and it starts with sacrifice. On Love Is a Kingdom, she says “mine” (as in, “You’re mine”) a total of 69 times—70 if you count the one-off “you not mine.” Most of these instances—57, to be precise—reside in track “Mine,” but its reiterations reveal the kind of amor Tems inhabits: a union where two souls become one.

Tems’ use of repetition has defined her best songs, like “Burning” and all seven tracks on this EP. It never feels lazy or formulaic; her voice carries an authenticity, as if she’s reached flow state. Beyond her hooks, Tems’ kingdom rises on a foundation of syncopated log drums and 808s, draped in airy harmonies and soft strings. Her falsetto floats above it all, drifting between African, American, and Caribbean soundscapes and accompanied by shekere rattles.

Where her full-length debut, Born in the Wild, detailed the Nigerian artist’s genesis with expansive storytelling, Love Is a Kingdom pares everything back. Tems cuts out nearly all external input, laying her feelings bare in a diary of romantic whiplash. Her vision of love reads like scripture: patient, kind, protective, and hopeful, even when it breaks you. The EP is a short 20 minutes, but its emotional arc feels liturgical. Songs move like mood swings in slow motion, dwelling on a fragment of time before shifting. One moment, Tems is dunking on an unambitious, no-good partner; the next, she’s surrendered to a sacrificial love, repeating her devotion like a prayer she can’t shake. Love makes you do strange things.

The Afropop-y “First” opens like a psalm of self-preservation. “They keep trying to control me,” she sings, “So I have to change the story.” She means it: Tems produced, composed, and wrote the bulk of this project, alongside longtime collaborator GuiltyBeatz. The sound stays close to her prog-R&B and Afrobeats roots, with small diversions: “I’m Not Sure,” produced by Jonah Christian and Rob Bisel, drifts into Spanish-tinged textures; London and AoD switch it up with the churchy warmth of “Lagos Love” and the three-step thrum of “Big Daddy”’s amapiano-Afrotech bounce.

“What You Need” is the EP’s turning point. It follows “Mine,” a vow of devotion, and snaps the record into its not-so-happy-ever-after. The breakup feels overheard, like we’ve accidentally stepped into her confession booth. “I’m not what you need,” Tems repeats, trapped inside the guilt. Her voice cracks, and here it comes: “You not mine.” Closer “Is There a Reason” is a brave interrogation of faith that recalls the spiritual searching of “Me & U.” In it, Tems addresses God, wrestling with the worth of sacrifice and suffering.

This spiritual dimension, once a subtle undercurrent, now frames the entire project, elevating the EP from a love story into a meditation on endurance. But Tems’ lyricism can also lean too abstract, masking her emotions in celestial metaphors and mythic language that feel just out of reach. It’s poetic, though sometimes I wish she’d descend from the clouds; a few concrete details would make the kingdom that much less ethereally distant. Short but worthy of your attention, Love Is a Kingdom is the work of an artist who wields her voice like a balm as she challenges what it means to love and be loved for eternity.