Little King

There is storm in his

eye. Still, light finds him and keeps him;

cannot leave him alone; makes its face to shine upon him. Be-
loved, ever so. But storm lives within

him. And his heavy crown hangs low. But

with reign so ever near him, love’s the only

fear he’ll know.

4 april ‘17

paramour*

whats left of us

comes in an email

- no subject line

and a file with barely any buffer time.

*a lover, especially the illicit partner of a married person

A Dangerous Understanding

We: firestorm, flood, hurricane

We: disruption.

It overwhelms us.

In denial            we need.

                          we cost

Fully informed            we contact

                                    we do it

We must do it.

                                31.12.2015

exposed

laid out. dissected

like scalpels and clanging

trays on countertops.

glistening bits on display

and eyes, peering

all the way over,

charging anxious fingers

to stay in their pockets

where they belong.

        14.12. 15

In Short

             n.c.

You are most of what I know

Of how connected beings be together

Even though

We

Could not.

                                    '15

a moment's content

                   -j.d.

it all comes back eventually

revolving

circular, as happiness runs

around and

around and

on its way

to me,

belly full of ease

bees gone

            all things settled…within

content in

your silence.

youre quietness

im content

just satisfied enough

to hear you cower

you Coward, limp as you do

and I wont look after you

my eyes wont follow you

past the gate.

to know you’ve gone

is enough

           19.10.2015

For you, prepared

Before me,

laid out, prepared,

I’ve words, sifted and reworked

To present me

like you know me

like you like me

Not yet this heart, unsure,

but steady

Inevitably you will get that, too

For you

I’ve words deliberate

though still true

to recite, 

mellifluous,

all lashy coquette.

                                    18.08.2015

Stone

Apology escapes you.

You are made of stone

at all the right places.

Gargoyle-

Unwavering, at the edge

and not a pigeon would think

to soil your head.

My love, your

vows, unbuttressed

covenents, sacred

under conditions we cannot control.

But you are stone

As was I

until I crumbled.

            14.06.2015

#5ThingsYouShouldNeverBreak 

a. a promise - unless you can endure the guilt.

Caves

Your voice

won’t echo here,

but hover

at my ragged points;

stalactite –

drip dripping steady ‘til

there are mounds

of you

at both my highs

            and lows.

                        11.06.2015

self-portrait

not quite lost but

seeking a bit of nothingness

to welcome her restless romp.

enough to taste relief,

and she would offer palms;

turn out her pockets.

for a moment

of stillness,

sacrifice comes cheap.

6.2.15

moonlit reds

i sleep with wine-stained lips

to be light on my toes

and a wrangler of [w]reckless emotion.

                                                29.04.15

Breathing Underwater

toe to toe

amends hovering / between us

my chest

bound,

Then burst

rhythm lost

                        Fireflies!

Dancing

            Rave-like            across

My             eyes.

                                                            I’m grasping for breath.

                                                                        I have none.

Once,

Before you,

Before

            Fake love

And            real lust

I could hold my breath forever

Hold out

‘til every ring

from the bottom of the pool

bangled around my little arms

a mermaid bride

decorated.

Before

            Real fear

And            fake commitment.

I would dive in.

Stay down.

Calm.

Safely in danger

But

Toe to toe

Apologies inanimate

And barely fertilized

I am

begging for air

Where there is none

and

But a heart’s beat from the surface.
                                                                        4.19.15

Blessed

I am silly

and sullen with everything

From Tuesday til the Lord’s day,

when I fake it;

Quit for feeling grateful.

Count blessings

hatched

matted,

covered in gunk

          12.29.14

reBound

I do not welcome
your tiptoe into curious territories.

This is about release
and recovery

solely a thing
of reparation;

making amends for giving
up

immunity
from sly and charming impurities,

prerogative
to be preserved and set apart.

                                    12.16.14

Quench

 Baby pours a double

His fingers are slim, and

Slick from a clumsy spill.

He’s a heavy hand.

My top lip tingles before I’m half in.

He casts a smile

Over the wooden divide

I am whet; procured.

Sentenced.                       

09.08.14

bent

i desired you so

deeply

i could feel my insides

tremble, bumping into themselves

and fueling the rhythm

that kept us on beat

ive seen you dance since me

watching your feet

stumble in  your too-big shoes

the heat between us

melted the mattress so

on the springs, that now poke and dig

 i cannot sleep without thinking of you inching over in the dark.

                                                           

i call to God

to bless and forgive, then

to you to comfort me in case he wont.

waiting for a call back,

i sit hunched -

my spine forever arched to be your little spoon.

24 June ‘14

(n+1)

In your empty space

I consider            how I fit;

which way I must maneuver my arms

in order to squeeze in

because I can feel it won’t be right

when there’s two of us.

June '14

Love and Slugs

Heavy dreams hang

with swollen bellies

All over my furrowed brow

The humble moon is no match

They empty their guts

just as I’ve quit butterfly kissing the pillowcase

dumping on me

all the things I fear.

        2014

From Here (years later)

I had the greenest grass the girls at school had ever seen. My parents

saw fit to keep things manicured. I rested, unconcerned with stains or bug bites, for

what could have been hours or days. All the same for pretty me. Cherished me. Nurtured me. Things 

happened and I, laying in the grass, did not blink or wince. I, fingering the blades

and blowing kisses to hippos in the sky, did not know or flinch. Except to bat at a hairstreak’s kiss.

I had the softest grass a girl could hope to lay in. But somewhere, life had happened and someone 

cried. 



Feb '14

In Dreams

This is my interpretation of a Bop poem. The style was created by Afaa Michael Weaver during a Cave Canem summer retreat. This Bop’s refrain comes from James Blake’s song “Our Love Comes Back” The accompanying music is composed by Jean-Michel Bernard from my favorite movie of all time, The Science of Sleep. Hope you enjoy.