Tarnished

Tarnished

There is a clock on the back of his hand.
Ticking constantly.
As time is known to do.
The seconds clicking over his skin.
Leaving cuts that will never heal.
Permanent reminders of every misstep.
Minutes slowly dragging, edging deeper.
Slicing over scabs and dried blood.
Deep thunderous knocking that rattles knuckles.
The gears twisting skin.
Forming wrinkles on fingers.
Joints rotating in painful ways.
Tarnished brass that no longer has a reflection.
Unable to see himself.
Time has not be kind,
To the man that has not been kind.

Dear Breath of Fresh Air

Dear Breath of Fresh Air

I will say this to you plainly. You are someone that I admire. From your soft feet to your perfectly “managed” head of hair. From your deep contemplation to your to your laughter induced conversations. You are calming.

An ocean breeze that gently nuzzles my leaves. Your smile is a prism of happiness that I feel beyond the tips of my branches. You linger throughout the tentacles of my thoughts.

Complex metamorphic rock that absorbs heat and sunlight. You warm my heart. Glazing honey over my arteries as your affection pumps through me.

I want to be for you, as much as I am with you.

Dense Love

Dense Love

I seek a love that that is dense,

Growing in every direction.

Infecting rainbows that show themselves after rainy days.

I want to make time from scratch.

From photons and neutrons, I want to create the fabric this love is wrapped in.

Grant me passage to your ecosystem,

So I can wash away the dead cells.

I seek a love that purges.

Let me gargle what ails you.

I am the cleanser,

Seeking a love our descendants will remember.

Buried in the seams of their genes.

I seek a love I can reflect on.

Looking up at mirrored images on ice flung from comets.

Gazing into the womb of forever.

I want us to bloom together.

Synthesizing spiritual nectar.

For our offspring to take back to the hive of our ancestors.

I want to draft a cosmic letter.

With a love that reaches beyond forever.

 

Alternate

Alternate

A signal flare into the emptiness.

Red breathing light exhaling onto the walls of my soul.

There is a sharpness in my breath that is stabbing my lungs.

I am exhaustion.

Monotony neatly packed in social media feeds.

Unable to breathe as my beliefs are slammed back against the wooden boats.

The New World just never seemed that inviting to me.

I want to remember the Old World, with the old gods, not the new.

I want more colors and flavors in my eyes.

Instead of the bland mashed potatoes of colonialism.

Show me a sidewalk painted with textiles in a minimalist style.

Matched with sky-scrapping buildings draped in kente.

A virtual assistant that understands what I say.

‘Ok, Google.’ Show me how to make my grandma’s pound cake.

Google: “Here’s a recipe, if in doubt ask your grandmama.”

Flower Bed

Flower Bed

I fell into a garden of flowers.
And my skin melted into a softness.
Exposing tendons and symetrical structures of bone.
At first
I laid there,
Rotting away
Being absorbed into something greater than me.
There was a panic
As I fought and struggled,
My spine snapped, exposing malliable tissue.
My claws and fangs bored holes so big
They swallowed the radiating light being cast from the flowers that surrounded me.
Snarling as the vines tried to repair my broken spine.
My fangs struck, tearing petals and the remainder of my skin.
Pieces of me flew into the air
Cascading with leaves and stems.
The vines tugged at my frame and I was unable to move.
Frozen, I felt a calm come over me.
My eyes filled with tears as flowers began to grow out me.

Dis-jointed Connection

Dis-jointed Connection

I have loved more often than I have taken full breaths.
The caverns of my heart that are left

are ancient.
Predating hints of depression that I ward off using the leftover vapors
from tears of pass lovers.
Hiding under the covers with others
To escape responsibility.
Which vice shall I indulge in this time?
The bottle whispers to me when I’m faced with rejection.
It seems that pouring my heart into a shot glass is too much for some women.
They don’t like it straight.
So I pretend to be uninterested on dates.
I have to create the ruse that I have someone else to fallback on.
This is exhausting.
I’ve grown use to being the vacation.
Rarely am I the destination.

Impurities trickle down my neck
As I wonder how I can hold her interest.
The bridge doesn’t easily connect.
As I breathe in her lust.
My lungs begin to fill with regret.