She worries about her smile,
All the while it reminds me of starlight in the moonlight.
Just as works of art take time to develop

like photographs in a dark room.
She were beautiful before the cocoon,
And she will be after.

Her interest in her inadequacies,
And the probability of her not being enough is a miscalculation,
Of what she can bring to the relation.
And to that I say;
She is the reason my cup runeth over.
I don’t mind being sober while we sit by the fire that grows between us.
Small goodbyes and indulgent hellos,
Becoming entangled as we run our fingers through each others fros.
She is the monarch butterfly who’s design can’t be replicated.
Intricate be design with eyes that leave me sedated.

With banter that is witty and insightful,

The time I spend with her is always delightful.

Organic conversation that is pure,

For the loneliness that I feel-

She is the cure.

She Was A Dreamweaver

She Was A Dreamweaver

She implanted dreams of intimacy.

As she locked her legs around me I closed my eyes.

Only to open them and to realize that I am lying right beside her.

She’s sound asleep with her mouth slightly open.

I admire how cute she is when she’s peaceful and I sink back into the bed.

Closing my eyes only to see her twist and bend as I sink into her.

Honey begins to seep down her walls over the paintings of her desires.

I hear her mumble something under her breath; what I could only assume was a fire spell.

A warmth is felt as I am taken to the space between two hydrogen molecules.

Us blending to create something more pure than water.

She whispers my name and again my eyes close.

Revealing her half naked body partially covered by the bed sheets.

Her right arm and leg laid over me as she slept.

There was a pressure in my shorts and a scent in the air.

A scent unfamiliar, but I knew it’s origin.

Something ancient in me stirred as I leaned in closer.

Her eyes slowly opened and she stared.

Both of us smiling as we closed our eyes to re-enter our dream.

I Lost My Ex-Girlfriend’s Jacket

I Lost My Ex-Girlfriend’s Jacket

I was holding onto it.

It covering my shoulders that she would massage as I played video games.
Covering my back that she use to lay on as we watched episodes of British television.
It was the color of dark grey; the color that matched the clouds that hang over my psyche while I dug ditches under the memories that plagued my mind uncontrollably.
Six brown buttons made of wood that held engravings from a time when I listened to the earth with more than just my ears.
Back when I use to leave them unbuttoned just so she knew I was always ready for a hug.
The only jacket that didn’t have inner pockets, because I had someone who I could talk to so there was no reason to conceal anything.
The front pockets housed the trinkets that were created every time we both said ‘i love you’ to each other.
They were overflowing and the seams stretching beyond the gravestone that rest right under the pleatuea that our relationship had reached.
Still haven’t seen a view as grand as that one.
Trying to retrace my steps to gain what I had lost in the bustle of trying to live a free and prosporous life.
There must have been someone else that picked it up who you was just passing by.
My attention was elsewhere;

The jacket that I had worn during my most trying of days was now no longer in my possession.
Searching my closet several times before I leave to start my day.
Thinking that it must of fell somewhere in a place where I couldn’t see or reach it easily.
It’s odd that I wore the jacket even though it didn’t fit me as well as my others, but still it was my favorite.
Right under the faux leather jacket made by Levi that I would wear over it if the temperature was at an unbearable degree.
As I tried to remember where I misplaced the jacket I began to realize that my favorite pieces of clothing were the same color as the different shades of her skin.
My sadness that came from reminising was something that I wrote off as being normal with someone who was in the same state that I was.
My favorite part about her was how her dark shades reflected the colors of life around her.
She was a prism of ebony that wove intricate tapastries of color just as the fabric of my dark grey jacket did to form something beautiful.

She wasn’t for me.
And just as the jacket that she bought me had now been misplaced.
I’ve come to the understanding that the jacket wasn’t for me either.

She Had Her Own Atmosphere

She Had Her Own Atmosphere

There are stars unseen and planets unclaimed.
Yet it is still your heart that I desire most.

Your body began where my thoughts ended.

A macrocosm that manifested itself from the warmth of your ocean that called to me through seashells that hung from your locs like a chandelier.

My heart resting there on the mantlepiece above the fireplace next to your law degree and a box full of fortune cookie quotes.

I want to make love to a good cup of coffee
While you tell me what it is that moves you.

Your aura causing the black matter to push me in directions that benefit me.

Your glow layering the solar system in chocolate & honey with every breath you take.

I suckle at the vanilla that are your words as they leave your lips for nutrients.

Never needing to come up for air as all faith that I had given up was placed in you once I saw your thoughts next to candlelight.

Admiring the way your skin reflects light as if your own purity outmatches that of the sun.

You are a catalog of beauty and a paragon of what it means to be a woman who is unmoved by opinion, observation, and those that would mold you into what they think you should be.

How amazing it was, to meet someone such as you.

Lemonade & Success

Lemonade & Success

She walks through the door with open pores.
Fresh out the shower.
Told me to give her an hour while she gets dressed.
I am stressed, no less, and I protest.
But I don’t mind.
She’s the reason why I haven’t chased my dreams even though I dream of her.
She’s the reason why my words slur.
You never hear guys talk about their toes curling, but I’ll be the first to admit that she made me do that shit the first time she drunk white wine from my wine glass.

She comes out dressed in red.
Navigates to the bed and sits down and she commences to start a conversation about what we’re doing tonight.
After a slow pause reply with ‘whatever you want. but I can offer suggestions if you’re mind isn’t made up.’
A soft touch felt on my heart as her eyes looks my way.
A grin from both of us as we decide to stay at home for the night.
So we can sit on the porch under moonlight and discuss what our dreams taste like.
Lemonade and Success

Her: Fade

Her: Fade

Every time you spoke my heart grew softer.
I sat in close proximity to you.
Pretending like the wounds you caused had healed.
Like I didn’t lay awake at night picking at the scabs left by your venom.
The night went on and I smiled through the plexiglass.
Glancing over towards you hoping that we would make eye contact and that you would mouth the words telling me you were sorry.
Instead I jumped through flaming hoops with absolute precision.
Laughed and conversed more than I usually do so you wouldn’t see how much your presence affected me.

For a moment I suggested to myself that I would ask if we could talk outside.
The embarrassment I already felt from how distant we were crippled any intiative that I had.
So I sat there; eating, talking, and laughing like my world hadn’t turned grey when I heard your name uttered when you arrived.
I should have left when you got there.
Made an excuse to leave.
But I stayed, wanting to speak with you again like we use to.
Felt an ache that I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Lightning stretched itself across the left side of my ribcage when you left.
And then all the pressure I felt faded away.
Just as you did.

Exodus of Mind

Exodus of Mind

There was a time when we as a people looked to those that were around us,
Instead of what we theorize may be above us.
This isn’t slander nor a way to push my agenda,
I only mention this as it as plagued my mind for some time ever since I started putting pen to parchment.

I am not here to prove or disprove divine intervention.
Or to explain the intermission between the onslaught of your bad days.
The words that I exhale are meant to be thought-provoking in the best way possible.
I am not knowledgeable on what it is that makes you wake up in the morning and press through to the end of the day.
Your sense of accomplishment may come from the acknowledgement of a greater power that moves you.
I am not here to derail your winning streak.
I do think it’s ironic that a slight exodus of people to escape the oppression of the clergy, used that same thing to oppress our ancestors.
Though it does bother me that our adoption of something that our former masters cling to has become what rest on our nightstand.
We read through the text and dissect the parts that align with our convenience and call it spiritual law.

Looking for ways to explain why we were ever slaves and how we ‘the chosen people’ could fall to that level.
The hurricanes aren’t following the slave ships from Africa, it’s just the way our planet works.
It’s hard to separate romanticism and realism in cases where things are not easily explainable.
You’ll have to excuse me at my inability to suspend all disbelief.
Is it the fear of death that causes us to drop our shield and submit to what is placed in front of us.
A precaution so that the gospel of damnation doesn’t get the chance to knock on our blood soaked doors made of wood.
I could put the Constitution and the Bible in the same glass case in a museum and call them artifacts from a different time.
Our version of Mythology, but everyone isn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet.
Maybe it’s all meant to be taken lightly and I analyze things too much.
I just think we could be greater if we only looked within ourselves for answers.