GOODBYE

It’s cold,
It’s lonely,
It’s dark in my small room.

My heart aches,
My heart bleeds,
My heart cries out for you,
My soul flies,
My soul departs from me to look for you.

It’s just a night,
It’s just the moon,
It’s just the stars, but tonight they’re not shinning down on us.

You left my small room,
You didn’t share the night with me,
You didn’t count the stars with me,
You slipped,
You escaped,
You left me in total darkness,
You were my only candle,
You burnt out,
You expired,
When you left.
When you said
Goodbye.

Loving me with my shoes off,
Means loving my short brown legs,
and my small feet,
which I let out to play naked.

Intricate,
My toes No longer bound.

All spirited and wild,

Now you work your way up my legs

Little moves that tell you

Further up,

 my darling,

continue,

I will tell you all my secrets.

There is no one else but us

In this house.

I’m your barefoot woman

for an entire weekend,

Do you care for some meat?

No. You’d rather not have a drink?

No. You don’t really drink.

 You do,

Drink me.

All night long.

Barefoot.

No description,

No explanation,

of how far we fall,

of how ashamed we get of our words,

but love unexplained is more clear,

When hasted to write about love,

on reaching the subject ,

my pen broke,

my paper got torn,

so I decided to shade my shadows

so when you see them,

you will cast your light,

I will be the shadow,

that will explain your presence

friday evening

There is something about every Friday sunset,

That burning yellow giant

Is full of heat and wild desire to know everything about life.

For days it leaves you with something throbbing in your veins,

exquisite poison in the air, passion for sensation,

a damning determination to go out in search of some adventure.

There is something about every Friday evening

It begs you to go out of town,

To go remote village, to meet its sordid sinners,

and its splendid sins,

it must have something in store for you

The mere danger gives you a sense of delight.

There something about Friday evenings

because they just wonderful evenings.

oh damn, boy child

your body so good i almost said “i love you

you touched me so good that I almost thought “I need you”

 

Goddamn, boy-child

You fucked me so good”

You’re fun and you’re wild

But, look at the shit that you put me through

Your so poetry’s bad and you blame the views

Cause you’re just a man

It’s just what you do

My head in your hands

As you color me blue

Now am in the mood

Your head in your hands

As you color me blue

You are a Self-loathing poet

Goddamn, boy-child

You talk to the walls

But I don’t get bored,

I just want to see you

Why wait for the best when I could have you?

You?

DREAM

 

It must have been a dream,

when for a hastened moment,

I glimpsed at innately grandeur like awe handsomeness,

Enthralled, tossed to a delirium of perpetual bliss clasped in definite absolutism

A moment devoid of space, time, motion and objects,

Absent Reality,

Was this a projection of my own selfish desires or of my reservations?

A creation of my subjective mind.

 

Moments passed, the memory of his encounter reflecting from a distance,

like a dream preceded by  the relative daily chaos.

How do I make contact with a dream unspecified?

What his name?

What his voice like, his touch, his smile, his gaze?,

His existence seeming illusory, but with a favour to be by his side,

 

And the dream like state preceded, void of all that bases realism,

His name, his name,  K…………

His voice, the sound of reverberating divine reveling ghostly soliloquies

Draped in carnations,

His touch, the warmth of a savored memory in the mind of a soul passing on the next life,

His smile, Gods relish,

His gaze, the adoration of the heavens upon the earth life protractions.

 

Maybe it’s all in my head. No.

He’s beyond the limits of my exaggerations,

Maybe he is a dream, an illusion, a fabricated idea. But so

How come his reservations and trepidations are so real?

So visible is the mask he tries to cover them by.

 

Sri Nimbraka Charya articulated it best when he said……

The creation of a dream is all the doing of the cosmic soul.

As it is strange and illusive character, being not entirely true nor entirely untrue and as such, it cannot be done by the individual soul for one’s own essential characteristics including creative power, in the present state of bondage, are as yet unrealized, limited and conditioned. One’s inherent powers cannot have full play and therefore it is not possible to create the strange thing that is a dream (DREAM.

Rendezvous

His Encounter

I stretched my arms towards the sky like blades of tall grass,

The sun beat between my shoulders like carnival drums,

I sat still in hopes that it would help my wings grow,

So then I could really fly,

And then she arrived,

Like a day break inside a railway tunnel,

Like the new moon, like a diamond in the mines,

Like high noon to a drunkard,

sudden She made my heart beat in a now now time signature.

 

Her skinny canvas for ultra-violent brush strokes,

She was like Suri’s painting,

She was a deep cognac colour,

Her eyes sparkled like lights along the new city,

Her lips pursued as if her breath was too sweet,

And full for her mouth to hold,

I said, You are beautiful, “Mistress of Mathematics”

I said, For you, I would peel open the clouds like new fruit and give you lightning and thunder as a dowry. I would make the sky shed all of its stars like rain, and I would clasp the Constellations across your waist, and I would make the heavens your cape, and they would be pleased to cover you.

 

 

Her Encounter

I met him on a Thursday, sunny afternoon,

Cumulus clouds, 89 degrees,

He was brown, deep,

He said he wanted to talk about my mission,

Listen to my past lives,

Took me on a long walk to places where butterflies rest easy,

Talked about Moses and Mumia,

Reparations blue colors, memories of shell toped Adidas,

He was flesh like summer peaches,

Sweet on my mind like block parties and penny candy,

Us was nice, and warm, no jacket, no umbrella, just warm.

 

At night we would watch the stars and he would physically,

Give me each and everyone,

I felt like cayenne peeper, red hot, spicy,

I felt dizzy and so near heaven and miles between my thighs,

Better than love, we made delicious,

He me had, had me he,

He had me tongue tied,

I could hear his rhythm in my thoughts,

I was his sharp, his horn section,

The rain was falling and slowly and sweetly stinging my eyes.

 

And I could not see that he became my Voodoo priest,

And I was his faithful concubine,

Wide open, wide loose like bowels after collard greens

The mistake was made,

And us became new,

Love slipped from my lips,

Dripped down my chin and landed on his lap,

Now me non-clairvoyant and in love.

I’m the kind of woman

 

I’m the kind of woman who keep things,

I’m the kind of woman who don’t lose things,

I’m the kind of woman who will keep you,

And I won’t lose a thing,

I’m the kind of woman who will keep you,

 For only one night.

 

I’m the kind of woman who love to taste things,

I’m the kind of woman who has a taste for things,

I’m the kind of woman who enjoys how you taste,

And so I want to taste you among other things.

 

I’m the kind of woman who enjoys the darkness,

Who welcomes the sunset like a new love affair,

Who bids goodbye to the sunlight and welcomes the moonlight,

I’m the kind of woman who lit up the night,

Who don’t turn on the lights,

Who enjoys sex in the darkness,

Who likes the shade of your darkness,

I’m the kind of woman who keeps you,

Just to taste you,

For the entire night in the darkness.

 

A touch of your skin strong and slippery,

With a hint of sweat,

We fought our resistance beneath the cool sheets,

As wind flowed from the window above us,

Eyes met briefly and begged for a chance,

To abandon all of our uncertainties.

 

You began your work on my lips,

Probing gently as if drawing sex,

From a deep well of longing and need,

Then heated tongues met in the Midst,

Of hot and quickening breath,

And greedily we drank the wine of lusts,

Then intoxicated with those spirits,

Our clothes found resting place on the floor,

Piece by piece,

Until there were no hiding places,

For the two glistering and wanting bodies,

Hunger revealed in this moment,

The skin meshed with skin,

As the floor became the stage,

You moved on top of me easily,

And lowered yourself gently,

Kissing me as I was filled with you.

 

A gasp broke the kiss,

Your hands stroked the stray stands,

Away from my forehead, then became entangled,

Our slow rhythm gave way,

To urgent and demanding thrusts of passion.

As I arched my body for your comfort, and you threw me into ecstasy,

With the strength of your blows,

You left me screaming and soaked

In oblivion again and again

As I growled your name from the back of my heart

and our bodies both demanding more,

Each giving to the other,

High on the fluids of foreign substance,

I gasped, then released you,

In effort to relieve you of your control,

The taste of your skin between my lips,

Was like no other,

To make me cry of mercy,

When your teeth met my skin,

Was more breathtaking than you knew,

Yet I still released the control to you.

 

As you wound your hands in my hair,

And pulled until the flesh on my neck was taunt,

You moved with one final and breaking blow,

Facing our way to hear the peaks of bliss,

Leaving our screams to echo on like battle cries.

 

I welcomed the weight of you to crush me,

As you collapsed on top of me,

Still hot and burning,

And I glowing like  an ember,

Casting a welcome light,

Should you seek my gifts again.