In due season, the yesteryears
of what once youth could be:

—I've been young in love
—an old soul, but of a young heart

Like as a child likens their time to being
plenty as when the sun is in their eyes
Our youthful days have come to set,
a flower in the skins of being a beautiful
fragile being

I'd be like you see of my nature,
twisting to sun of my creator
We are all beautiful flowers—
in the grounds of time, and life
Planted with purpose; we grow, we live,
wither off, and eventually die

                           ~This is all our lives

Cherry bumps, bumping to you in the preceding
of your body's prequel. You're looking like a sequel,
I just want to see you in that see through.

Let me hit it till I quit, quit it till I miss it.
I know it's been a minute in the warmth of your body
and long socks. Advances of awkward romances is all I got.
Could I be the key to your secret lock, walking through your
door after a long tongue knock?

Knock, knock, knock,
to taste the sound of love, the pleasing ears of raining
down drizzles of when you come—around this time
when I'm done. Could I be your night's desirable secret?
I'm quite good at keeping secrets; fulfilling pleasures in
your imaginative wishes.

Okay maybe that's just wishful thinking; sinking in
the loves of night—your love is what I'm seeking.
You're what I'm missing, to be hopefully kissing you
the next time we're meeting.

Ring, ring, ring,
please put on your tone, call for my company anytime
you feel alone. The distance seems far, but close to my
heart when your embrace is my home. Living in the
moment—capture it all in my focus. Who needs a bed of roses;
you're already my pretty flower I'm holding onto the closest.

                              Just pick up the phone my love.

Love, a complex and ever-evolving force,
can be likened to the shedding of skin
with each passing season, rejuvenating the
spirits of the old to make room for the embrace
of new beginnings.

The ebb and flow of
relationships echo this continual metamorphosis,
as some individuals offer solace through
gentle caresses that blend seamlessly like a
poetic kiss, while others wield their words
with a sharper edge, concealing deceit beneath
the guise of intimacy.

Just as the gentle whisper
of a kiss may be heard, so too can the sinister hiss
of untruths slither beneath the surface,
reminiscent of a serpent's deceitful ways.

BEAUTIFUL

He: not in the looks; inner or outwards,
neither words said or held out,
Seldom the blemishes or dimples,
make-up coverings; shades of red, purple, often blue,
The actions you take in response to adversary,
the seconds lost in the eyes of time—no.

You're beautiful for being you...
and the above are just accruing.

Love and lust;
tell me what's the difference, when both
things give me such a rush,
Swore we wouldn't be any of these things;
but aren't we all so quick to cuss?

I talk too much;
can't bite my tongue on words, unless
if I'm not able to pay for our lunch.
I once took out a girl; hoping for a chance
to cuff. Hoping not to get declined on both
my intentions, and brand new swipe card's bluff.

Being in love sometimes *****;
when you're getting blasted for not checking up.
Meeting up; 'I'm a little busy today, but I swear
by tomorrow we'll do some catching up.'
But we're back to the part of going to cuss;
and I've had so many catches, but I'm the one
still catching up.

Let me butter you up;
have you out to spread with open legs,
As I'm tempting myself so close to lust.
Here comes the rush, as the sweetest kisses brim;
overflowing out of my cup.

Our minds are about to erupt;
we both know what's coming up, and what's up.
Seems so hard to stop; but I'm listening to my
spirit, causing things to interrupt.

Looking cute in my eyes of a pup;
every angle looking so plump, before
my head is rushing to pump. Just to dump
my confidence to peers that I'm not a chump.
That I know how exactly to cuff.

But I told myself to stop...

I've been so close in this game between
love & lust;
The hungrier flesh; skins wanting what
they want. But as for me; I'm not letting them have
their luck.

I'm not letting up.

So, so many things I could say,
"I love you," "I need you," "I miss you," etc.
But the response is like a lot of messages
-unread, blocked, archived, and forgotten
So it all remains in my head; a better off place said

And in the grapevine-
made to be the wine that ages.

We don't celebrate its birthday

But are we any different,
thinking we can stay forever young?
A bottle too ages by the years;
Can we all not grow in maturity?

Take a sip of that.

Easy to say, "I'm okay"
when asked how you're doing today.

So strange...

Knowing we hide tragedies behind
such a simple phrase,
For the sake of some kind of
happiness they can praise.

But hey...

Maybe I'm okay...
            or
The tone I should use is;
          I'm okay?

***** girls, with tight short skirts,
sand in the eyes—the colour of dirt; employed
by the moon, and doing the night work.
Quivering in the cold, like skeletons out of their
closet—to act as if you don't know their prices.
But it's quite obvious!

The alleyways smell of ****; the club scene of
turning a blind eye to your number of drinks.
Charismatic ill gentleman, with their casual winks;
its the end of the week. As the troublemakers parading
the street.

The performance of the local band, guitar, drums,
keyboard, bass, and of course a mic at hand.
A breathalyzer for an asthma attack, to break the pressure
in awkward conversations with the rude jokes to crack.
Lap dances in the centre room; a long key looking for the
right lock. The goal of every man to score by their crotch.
Lest he has the *****!

Perfumed necks, and high cleavage vests, to show off
some perky *******. Tightly tuned hair—linear
of a piece of linen wrapped in good and neat care.
There's barely enough chairs; so sip a little while
looking around for a seat. And don't be too shy to move
your feet. But watch your step, least not to bump into a stranger,
and disturbing the chaotic night's peace.

Taste a little bit of love; in their cup under the
lasting lust of every fallen star. Take some company
back home, stuffed in a six sitter car.
As we watched a day end—watching another rise by
the time of that great Morningstar. To describe a night
they hope never ends. So by the next week, we'll be doing
it all again.

All the shortest summers,
I compare a love to a beautiful day,
Tempted temperatures; this artistry close to lust,
There's a careless wind of having nothing to say.

But summer's a bit short,
by these winter chills down my spine,
You leave so lovely; missing a bright complexion,
And of course; that lovely bright smile.

All that's fair; but feels dimmed, and trimmed,
Cut off from your love, I held to my very last,
Opened my eyes to yours; to feel I once dreamed.

But I do scare of beauty's fade; coming to our age,
When all our possessions are but empty, and cold,
Children remembering us as shadows under shade.

Time grows. And I've grown deep roots into love,
But love often is this constant battleground.

But I'll be one keen to fight all for you.

A gun for hands;
bullets for fingers:

Words in lead,
violence in my pen;

And in the end;
the paper is dead.

A pen in the right hands,
is a dangerous weapon.

Oh sorrowful song,
As the chords they go—lifting minors
And falling majors, flat to the eyes, D minor
Of the saddest song:

                    He sings with a choke of voice
                    Smoke from the lungs, a smokers abyss
                    His pipes are cold,
                    Blackened in the airways of the exhaust
                    Exhausted by the pleasures; only pleasurable at first.

Oh where are the words
The words to speak ill of another colour
Must of been caught up in the smoke—in the years
The years he said them marginalizing without remorse
In it's race, sped into discriminating; on his own tracks
Of how the world must only revolve around him
His wife had shed a tear in her prayers, "Lord do a working in him"

                   But his heart was made cold and hard
                   A stone—paved by cement of his opinions concrete
                   His racist abuse was made public, non discreet
                   So how would he fit a colour of world being discrete?

Oh the upbringing, hierarchy forced in eyes
To follow a father's pride—a fitting bride
He was unaware she wasn't hundred percent white
And in the end, both father and son died alike
Ironically chocked by the black smoke rewarding cancer inside

                    The sad life of the black smoke racist🚬


                        The son hopes not to follow his father's line of smoke.

Fire, wind, water, earth—
perhaps I’ll be
    the element of surprise.

No scent of intentions;
I broke my nose, sent into
a world that watches with
  wide eyes.

Premature ideas delivered
to a man’s dream;
            the stillborn
still cries; echoing even
    after not seeing the light.

Often my heart feels low, unruly—
     recognizing no boundary,
******* the sacrifice required
  To be a man.

Sometimes I am a stone,
skipping past life · · · · · ·
    1, 2, 3, 4, 5...

But never six—
for by that count,
     I begin to sink.
Life and its lessons still needs
   to polish me, to reach my reach.

Is it black, or is it red,
as it mostly makes me feel blue,
when a lover is just a memory in my head...

Purple shades in the passion of our love,
a yellow delight, if it feels destined from above.
But for some, a whitish-gray when their about to ***.
Those who believe they're shooting out their love...

Green for the envy of those displaying their
affections in public. Pantone 448 C, for some
people's love is quite ugly. But in the warmth of
us being orange, I warn the woman I love to ease off
the long hugs. As my tenderness is a light pink, so a
quick hug if you please...

                               We've all got our shade of colour,
                                                 to the feelings of love.

Sinking into your shadow – a stranger in this place. As the ink
smudged upon your lips; leaves your voice spellbound, those words
caught in a storm within your throat. These torrent of emotions
surging in my heart, resembles rain drumming upon the pavement –
frigid as a stone adrift in the river's relentless current; it ****** my
skin like a thorn.  

Yet, the flicker of our love's promise remains, a distant glimmer,
a beacon in the vast expanse of night.

Snip, Snip,

Our youth: a graze of grass, in
youngest beauty' field;
lively, but withered under sun—
all heated moments we'll treasure,
as proof succession is time,
for a new to replace an old.

Would the wind still blow in your eyes,
staring at the sky?

Kissed by the moon, dark skinned in the day.
You blush, but it's just an awkward smile.
You bruise easily, but it's just another skin line.
Your heart is warm, keeping in the sun's ray.

Looked as being so different; as they'd say.
Your blemishes are pure to their appearance.
You beauty colour is made to have resilience.
No matter it's shade, be proud and put it on display.

                          ~Its your beautiful African skin.

I should paint you like my shadow,
A lot of the black ink ran out of my pen
You reflect all of my dark smile's intentions,
Not to mention, I could dream of you
Like I had the control to it all, all in an instant;
-Our love was always lucid

Material lips; sewing on a seamless smile;
A shrouded piece of wool- for one wearing
The jersey of youth, as time slowly pulls at the thread
While I lock away my shadow of the writhing darkness,
Trailing behind me in the day; as I once tried speaking
To my void, but the emptiness obeyed not a single word

A tap tap at my window- the eyes to a soul, painted wholly
In the colours of divorce; as the separation of dreams
From one’s imagination. All, all was so dark; slandered
By such a terrorizing world- until I opened to let him in;
As a child with a curious thought, soon questioning, and
To study- for my lips to utter:

I cannot live out this life,
Without letting You, O Lord in.

To some she seems less appealing; by skins of shedding
away snakes. Liars in the world with venomous words,
But there's a city on fire,—in the burning eyes of
the bright future I see in her.

Clean streets; at least better than a capital,
chilled vibes, and no rush to the stresses we
all got to face. Faces of a bright smile; but of late
hidden under a surgical mask.

Sky's the limit in skies, but we're limited
by the resources we once had. "Salibonani mama/baba,"
greeting my elders out of respect.
A mix of black, white coloured, indian, and many more;
the dish of flavours going well with good fellowship at church.

Race barriers still exist; but maybe we ignore it
enough that it seems little. The writing is on the wall!

Many tribes, but my tribe is of great people.
Aren't we all, despite of upbringing or class,
status, hierarchy, or density highs or low.

I have love for you all, love for my Bulawayo.

Dip my feet-
In a bag full of coffee beans;
To get the feeling of-
The ground in between my toes.

But what do you know about love,
when you can’t show trust—but you know about lust.
Always thinking about how to fu—nction on your luck.
And that’s going to be a quick bust; infatuations are a rush.
We’d swear we don’t cuss, as you’re drinking coffee for
a buzz—I'm just drinking to keep up.

You say you love me, but I know you also love other girls,
so yeah right, yeah right! Just a shareholder in your life.

You love to talk but we don’t speak, you take life at ease,
but disturb my peace. Feels like you cut my wrists; there’s
no love for me to reach. But I still got a lot to give in a week,
till it leaves me feeling weak.

A heart made of stone, in the echo tone that you can’t
be alone. That’s a quarry of your love, when we quarrel
outside. So it’s hard to swallow pride, when we’re prideful
on both sides. In the shapes of drawing hearts, we’ve always
crossed a line. The outline is this relationship is not fine.
In the tune with a misconduct’s  due. And I wish I could say
I’ve never known, but I always knew. So the wrongs you
do now, are nothing new.

But why the heck did I choose
YOU!?

Cold as the winter's tooth sinking into
my skin. A creep sneaking into my sleep, to
disturb every last dream. I've been choked
up by regrets—the exhausting feeling of Black
coughs; out of an exhaust of a neck. I can't breathe.

panting, panting, panting, panting,

Overexaggerating, and it's so saddening to
tell them you're dying, (inside) but non believe.
In the slow drum beating—it's a slow beating heart,
symphony of a night crying angels; amongst the stars.
Looking to heavens, wondering who we are, imperfect
creatures under a perfect Son. Those waiting patiently
in anxious worry, for Jesus to come.

And into a river filled with tears, is where I'll
wash His feet. Gleaming waters; reflecting not
my image. But the stream reflects my sins. My black eye,—
fighting myself and those shivers of my ***** skins.

May he kiss my forehead for my clemency,
for that value worthy of peace. A golden cup in
my eyes—but so empty. Walking on the staircase
to heaven; a thousand steps away from paradise.

If I'm dying a night, let me die in paradise.
As with my resting eyes; I'll close them one last time,
and walk into that Light. Let me die in paradise.

He was born from the darkness of man's sin-
a monster, a vengeful spirit, and a barter of death
A whisper of an end resides in his breath; and swallows  
up all in it's deathly grey cigarette stench

You'll find him at the edge,
you'll hear him creeping in every corners crack
He will follow by day
as a shadow of every lonely previous night
He'll shine on all your fears before you sleep;
he'll chase you in your dreams—cutting the images of all
your imaginations, a constant knife in your spine

A blade of grass,
he'll valley around your heart and water it's weeds
He'll brittle your skin, belittle you in insecurities,
and beneath his towel of hand- he'll wrap his darkness
around your neck

You'll wish upon a star,
as he's the darkness surrounding
You'll pray to a god, he'll prey on your doubts like
a pouncing predator. His fingers are a remote to
channel your anxiety- a device of your depression
Placing unworthiness in your hand, as a weapon of
your own self harm. He'll cut you from hopes, and
pierce a dagger of misery into your soul

You'll run, run into his arms that he lied a trap for you
An uncomfortable long hug, he'll ***** you until
you feel too ashamed to scream for help
He'll promise you heaven, but give you a whole lot of hell first
he'll give you his curse, he'll curse your very worth,
and leave you bare and unholy—his unworthy curse
He'll disguise his red hand with a bouquet of black roses,
but beware his thorns, beware his thorns

He'll treat you fairly in the abuse he gives
us all. He'll attack you singlehandedly, but
he has a hand in us all

His goal is to raise an army of his slaved cowards,
be weary- fear wears red, in the devil's flowers

In open arms; these galloping seasons—
chasing after summer. A cold heart made of stone.
I'm torn: a ripped page; my appellation out of the
Book of Life.

Deathly wallows swallow my mind, as the
depressed eye looking at the pen as a knife.

An execution of a piece of paper,
bleeding out pain, and yells out in hurt.
Starved are these words—food for thought.
A penny for a thought, worthwhile taking time to
overthink, more often than the count to blink.

Tedious, hideous, a galloping chase—seemingly
alive. But I'm really just beating a dead horse.
Truthfully overthinking--does ****.

What am I doing so wrong in my life, to not be moving any
further ahead? How many counts do I need make, to soon realize
I’m running out of breath?

Am I dead?

No, not yet!

But as close to the feeling, with blood running through my eyes,
to only see red. It could be my last time to wake up alive in my bed.
The confusing phrase of, “he/she woke up dead”

Where I rest my head, lays the thoughts of dealing with life’s pressures
and pointless cares. Gaining less of self-respect, and losing some of
my hairs. Especially at an early stage, as I disengage from people who
act my age.

Well the previous one at the least.

Being too young doesn’t have much to give, but just wasted time.
Living without much direction, missing every sign. Pretending you’re
all fine. Flipping girls over for a change of finding a dime. I’m funding
my love, but quickly losing interest. They could be so many out
there, but I’m not a fan of all the kinds of fishes.

Those constant sweet nothings, and long tongued kisses. Not
really much of a fan, when my opinions to them are blowing in
the wind. I’m just blowing in the wind, with the echoes of it
tickling me down in my knees.

Sigh! I take a few minutes to quietly breathe.

Testing my own winds, to see if I still feel. Ha, I’ve watched an
emotion develop into being. Proceeding far ahead of my delusions
that trick my out of the things that are real.

Sigh! I take a few minutes to quietly breathe.

Blowing in the winds, blowing in the winds, blowing in the winds.
A windmill of my life, all of which spins on repeat.

How do I stop myself from blowing in the winds?

I hate social events,
but I'm in the club,
Where they're filling cups,
and throwing up,
Picking up,
and throwing love.
               Who had enough?

While I'm just sitting
talking to nobody,
Feeling like nobody,
drinking until I can't
feel my body,
My eyes are looking
for somebody,
to make me feel like
something,
When I'm feeling nothing.
              Small talk, has me rushing.

Everyone feels like a model,
holding an empty bottle,
With gas in their lungs,
about to hit the throttle,
Kissing their friends,
and fighting couples.
                      I'm about to *****.

I'm feeling extra single,
don't know how to mingle,
with sharp words at the,
Tip of my tongue like a needle.
                  Turned off by a lot of people.

Smiling for my friends,
the one's who misbehave,
Going on a rave,
wanting to go to jail,
Drinking below our age.
                   We're not the same.

Lord forgive us,
for one night stands,
Breaking heart shells
like these peanuts,
We know a lot of those girls,
might actually deceive us,
It won't matter when she's
getting the business.
               Just to feed a *****.

I'm still antisocial for the event,
dragged in by my friends,
When the party began,
God, I wish it would just end,
Spending our weekday bread,
I just want to go home to eat,
and watch some series on my bed.
                      But I'm out here instead.

So if you see the tear
in my red eye,
I'm sad and really tired,
waiting for someone to,
bring up their violence.

Conversation,
are my greatest fear,
I seem to know how,
to only sigh,
Just as,
I've always been wired,
Quietly,
watching you,
Driving the night crazy,
without a licence.

                               And I'm just antisocial.

Where the sun falls, we'll rise.
Horizons far beyond our lives,
the dawns yet to set.

Treasure the light that guides,
above all, the light within us.

Enlightened, boundless of blessings,
we ride the rays of Sun.
Above all else, a bright people,
the light of days, the bright Sun People.

I needed a place to rest my weary heart.
unfortunately, I had lost my room key,
so I asked you to spare me a space in your heart,
And you handed me a spare key and welcomed me in.

As I told the clock to wait a second for me,
still ticking off my list of red flags, and making
sure that we were compatible.
As we spent time together, making kisses
as wet as the scales of a fish out of the sea,
But I probably should have waited a little longer,
before I start calling you my catch

I couldn't resist the hook in your eyes.
The first time we made love, I was swimming in
the moisture of your body, deep in my feelings.
I took a break from breaking you open,
to sink my teeth in between your thighs.

And I was pleasantly surprised to find that
you were quite the trumpet blower.
As you found your voice blowing on my horn,
and I was left short of breath in the length of it all.
Despite my shorter stature,
I was tall in all the necessary places.

We spent our time smoking and getting high,
making a printer jealous with the loads
of paper we went through.
But I was always afraid of heights, afraid that
my mask would fall off every time I laid by your side.

As I was taught that love sometimes hurts,
but it hurts even more when you were in love
with someone who was hurting just as much as you.
But with you, I found a place to rest my love
and a spare key to your heart.

I’m inside of a scaled walled fortress,
the greatest strains in a mind's limit,
to limit myself inside of castle walls,

Of a writer's block,
refusing to let my passions rest
inside concrete walls,

Paranoia is a loud emptiness,
bouncing back and forth,
corner to corner; in this ball,
playing with my thoughts in these walls,

I can’t think inside of these walls,
can’t see ahead fears inside of these walls,
reluctant to move inside of these walls,
dependent on myself inside of these walls,
I have no choice but to break down these walls.

must you love me – accident prone; it could be my
clumsy self that made me fall in love. you hate smokers,
around you; I really hope I’m not too much of a drag
yet the laughter, and the sun follow you around like
smoke– addicted, they must love you

And she asked me:
“darling, do you think you could handle me,”

while twisting my thoughts by the handle to my heart’s
door – that’s my handful; being handy to remind you,
your eyes are beautiful. but I always seem too naked with my
thoughts, would you bear with me, be bare with me

stripped of false disguise – let me know your inner child from
your mother’s womb. the heat of your body that fires the spark
between us both; aroused in your presence, and yearning for
more, by the lack there of.

pen words of worth to penetrate your thoughts, rising
up in anticipation to that sensual mountaintop, as your
passion is to spasm for me, in this naked trust of love
                     in this very moment, we are one.

__

believe me
i know my tears—
too wet,
 too sudden

my eyes a washing line
of memories, regrets
hung me up
  to dry

searching for a loan
of love like a borrowed
heart pinned to a shirt

to find the wear and tear
of time; every memory
is washed,
 wrung out in silence
until it dripped from my eyes—

finally, oh finally,
  this man has found
the time to cry.

I cried these dirges brashly,
After these long nights
While my skin cracks;
Irrigating it with my dry tears
By the desperate harmattan;
My cries are a rustling of leaves under a sun
That never fades- washing my face in strict rays
Its attendance is long overstayed;
Resting on my absent mind

I sit outside in the world’s
Quick-witted; criticizing eyes
Weeping proudly without a rush of blinking tears;
This everyday world isn’t my beloved home to own-
A shelter neglecting to cover my nakedness

I sit outside in the world’s
Quick-witted; criticizing eyes
With a tiny cloth left damp, sodden and weary
By the stretched tears flowing down my bare *******
The world quickly suckles on my grief –
Biting, pulling, and scarring them by their buds
calling it all fair by its, “Budding remarks”
With the goalmouth of getting itself full up;
Never nursing the agony.  

                     Oh, how my heart hurts!

I've been touched by....
the morning symphony orchestra of birds,
rain tickles dancing on asbestos roofing,
calm winds; of one gentle breeze plunging mangoes,
brown leaves rustling away for new to follow,
the sounds of life in the cheers of children's play,
oh—touching experiences of a beautiful day.

So as I speak...
I say to you—not to bite words of expression,
let the voice of life in your lungs be lively,
out a loud in the quieting despairs of often,
to the ears open to the sounds of hope acclaimed,
teach the young, and so too teach the old of extra portion,
the spirit of worth within us, echoes out in action,
letting those words you speak be in the physical,
in conscious, guided by Spirit—becomes lyrical.

                                And all in all, do it all with love.

All of the sounds;
fading slowly into the background,
the sound of love; swish, only a rush nowadays.
Too many breaking up, down on their feelings
of being down on their luck.

Could make you go, "what the f..k"

But I heard they were looking for things
they couldn't find. Vroom, vroom.
Long trips at night; two kids driving down a hill,
about to live their life. Making out with one hand on the
steering wheel. Stirring their will; with tough love bites
leaving a wheal.

Mxwah, mxwah.

"Let's just enjoy the thrill,"
following each other's commandments. They both know the drill;
of hanging their clocks, with some time to ****.

Chirp, chirp.

Birds in the early morning of the season;
deep emotions their love has; but they keep on swimming.

SPLASH!

"Do you think this feeling will last," she had to ask.
In the relax of paradise; with no memories to
the past. Past the times of counting seconds to finally
meet.

Tic Toc,

Waiting by the corner of her house; waiting for him to
pick her off the street. They kiss to greet. Tss.
They give one on each other's cheek.

Sip, sip.

Of that strong black coffee at their favourite café,
they've been there a couple of days; and it's become
their favourite place. He licks his lips, "I need to ****"

Vvvvrrr, vvrr, splat. Splash!
goes the vibrating tap; to give his hands a rinse.

I forgot to mention that baggage of bags under
their eyes. They've been driving all night.
aauggh, he quickly yawns.

Where has the time gone; felt like they've been stuck
listening to the same song.

The envelope message of eloping away from their parents,
they're living so careless. A couple more miles from a
borders freedom. She's breathless; while he's restless.

On the highway, his eyes pull down; and the car pulls
away to the side. CRASH! BOOM!

Nobody is left alive. Just the sound of a risky love, and no
sounds of life.

Now all we have is the sound of silence.


                                                  END­

when the sunlight stays in that
bright smile of yours; i hope for it's day not
to end,
like tears in the ocean; your beautiful
crying also gives me your
blue.

you're as beautiful as those two things...

Throwing shots out a window,
it's all really a pain.
But it won't stick or leave a stain.
Still mind my ways,
the many open things on my brain.
I feel fragile as glass,
so please Lord, don't let me break.

Love be the nearest, love be the furthest.
I see an ***, doing the donkey work of to be earnest.
The self identifying; of those among truly purposed.
A garden of roses in carousel; rowing around a carnival park,
Ice cream stains, candy moustaches, brands tomorrow's marque.
People giving loose handshakes; lost it's grip to their love. Their once true love,—
Of all the hateful glaring eyes looking down on us. And what they told us, to then give up.

But love in the nearest? Is of things I hold closely.
As in it's furthest; are those coldest nights I feel so lonely.
Like bare toes inside of the snow; their feet are too cold to move.
Which of my souls do I anticipate to be holy or holey; of my old red shoes?
Glaring, teasing, laughing, shaking, commenting, and pointing,
I expect of others looking at them,— judging my worth at these worthless red shoes.

For a love had. I walked the nearest. And too walked the furthest.

When your skin is darker than your past, you'll find
yourself instinctively seeking shade, avoiding the scorching
rays of the sun that seem to tarnish its complexion.
Its once radiant appearance now tinged with the remnants
of the flames, forever leaving a mark.
You may feel that all your imperfections persist, yearning
to be acknowledged and embraced, yet often remaining
unnoticed by the oblivious eyes of the world.
You, my dear, have become a surreal spectacle, captivating
the gaze of many with your unique blend of beauty and vulnerability.

In this collective exchange of glances, you discover
a remarkable unity, a deep connection that transcends
mere superficiality. It is as if each shared look weaves
together the threads of our lives, binding us in a profound
state of matrimony, where understanding and acceptance intertwine.

As we stand together, lost in the enigmatic origins of life,
it becomes apparent that your skin holds a story, an
uninterrupted lineage that stretches back through time.
It is a tapestry of ancestral struggles and triumphs, a testament
to resilience and fortitude. And like the night that envelops
the world, your dusky guardian complexion bears witness
to the strength and beauty that lies within.

But let us not be judged solely by what meets the eye.
Peel back this outer layer, delve deeper into who we truly are,
and you will discover hearts that beat with the same
tenderness, dreams that flourish within the obscure depths of
our souls. Don't let the label of "African child,"
confine us to a predetermined destiny; instead, let it be
a celebration of our heritage, a recognition of the richness
and diversity that flows through our veins.

So, my dear, as we navigate our way through this complex
and ever-changing world, let your skin be a canvas,
not only for the painted white of eyes that might cast
judgments, but for the genuine smiles that radiate from within.
Embrace your darkness, your unique hue, and let it stand
as a testament to the vibrant spirit that resides in the
depths of your being.

Heart and soul, the symphony orchestra of your
beauty’s chords. I wrote you a note,—
a love letter with a fountain pen;
Ink lines fine tuned, emotions filled in words.

The sounds of trees blowing in a summer wind,
a palm holding onto birds singing morning secrets in
my ears. The ocean tackling tides, of love in waves.
The blue I see; kissing you with joyful tears.

A minor occurrence; in these major keys,
fiddling to find the right one to the lock.
The song of love isn’t the same for all,
An interlude—lyrics of love, her and I both sing.

Ssshh!

Calm yourself--your anxious feelings,
and hungering eyes. Let the sound of love move
you off your feet. Under stars of ball room lights,
dancing together. I’ll be waiting darling till
you and I meet.

Ziplock tie,
a piece of skin caught in a jean
fabric stained, sticky sweat
under a cool breeze. A little wind in
between; hanging cause
Shaving necessary for release from
pores

Bumps and scrapes
awkward looking, and ingrown hairs
blades of grass—pasture flesh land
Sprints of watered perfume, and
the only time man has a tender hand
Cleanliness; cleanse of appearance
to look and feel good in the end

             ...do play ball in taking care of your *****

Heavy are the thoughts of my crown—
shining like praise, sitting like gold,
but weighing like stone. A halo to some,
a shackle most days. To rule, or to ruin—
always my own.  

Strangers slip seamlessly into the crowd,
positive, negative—all charges allowed.
Their pull is soft, then suddenly loud.

And here I split a poem in two: I am a
double entendre, a meaning doubled—
a double-edged sword that cuts away
the rules, and the cut you take when
you refuse.

–––

Once formal—but now cutting ties, from
those who cut me. Knowing is freedom
dressed sharp, but dressed like an excuse.

I am the canopy stretched over my throne,
the highest branch of dreams I’ve grown.
Shade to protect, shade to conceal—
comfort by day, a curtain from light.

But get under my skin, and you’ll taste
the irony— me throwing you shade.
You’ll stand in it, unseen in my sight—
just another stranger, swallowed by night.

Here's a special song in my heart,
And I'll sing it all  day long so we don't grow apart.
Just have all the times of us in my mind,
The one who knows my heart and what's left to find,
I can't do all things I do without you my love
So just keep me close to your hand like I'm your glove.

And don't leave my side,
Till I make you my  bride.
And don't leave me hanging
Till you know I'm not demanding.

You alone can see what's in my heart,
And I can't deny this is your part.
So don't let me down now,
Cause in my heart I made a vow.
Just let me love you,
like tomorrow never came  through.

And don't leave my side,
Till I make  you my bride.
And don't leave me hanging,
Till you know I'm not demanding.

And I love you more then I could ever do,
Just to hold you close while these moments  seem so few.
So here are the words I wrote all about you,
Words that came to be, that all became so  true.
I love you with all my  heart and all my mind,
Just hope to keep you close and by  my side.

Just I beg of your heart, not to leave me hanging.

I held you like:
a new born child,

Wondering how I could keep
the fires of life in the light of your eyes.

For even if I had to hold
you as my wife,
Life does change drastically a single
heart into marriage' life.

After the church bells,
the clapping applauds,
as tears see you walk down that isle,
I see the pretty flower. Praying
I know how well to take care of a rose.

Yes love does grow,

But only of what you make
it grow into.
Everything grows, the hate, love,
guilt, and fears.
And in the coming years,
you'll start to see what you grew.

Yes love is time,

But how much of it are
you spending it on a pretty lie?
When she asks you, "what's wrong,"
and your pride won't let you cry.
When you shy away the obvious mistakes,
and she still sees you for you,
But you still want to hide.

Yes love is commitment,

But you could commit to something
you didn't sign up for.
Argue with each other on the
first night. *** becomes a rival,
because you try to sound right; quoting
scriptures from the Bible.

Yes love is truth,

But not all we admit,
eases all that hurt.
I thought as much, I would be
safe if I admitted it first.
Asking me if that wedding dress
still fits, and my response made
you question your worth.

Love is just that.
Something we don't fully understand.
We could hold onto past grudges;
more than we hold hands.

But I would love you past that,
for if we never move past the
heaviest of all tears,
We'd never make it to dryer land.

So if you're scared to love,
darling I can only understand.
But we could both brave this
love together. Just firstly take this hand.

We'll hold on together.

And as she turned her hair, and ran the marathon of
make-up on her face, she glanced at me. "Aren't you going
to say, I look lovely today," she asked me .

"No," I boldly responded.
Tears started to fill her eyes, but I chose my next
words wisely. Forbidding her eyes a reason to cry.

"The phrase you speak of, is just too simple for me to say.
And being simple, you are not. So if you were to ask me how
you look like today; then this is what I have to say...

You look like a desire so unreal to me,
The calmness of love blowing in word's wind,
The strength of beauty rushing over me like the sea,
The spell of which enchanted me to your heart,
The nostalgia of my very first love scar,
The laughter of joy, to my sadness you heal,
The weakness to my step's; by their Achilles heel,
The eternity to all my favourite sweet dreams,
The first kiss of my morning, and the last of my night,
The end tunnel of light, never lost to my sight,
The shadow of pain, you're unashamed to show,
The willpower, and passion, not by actions performed,
The love of a lonely man, so possessive of it alone,
And all of that is not of today, but of everyday.

But if simple words are what you seek, let me put
your heart at peace. For these are the words you at first
wanted me to say. So for you my darling I'll tell you,
you look lovely today."

The turning dials of that old car radio,
Metallic, as the rubber coverings fell
off. What had once protected, lost by
the twisting of that radio's lifespan.

In a car, old as it's manufacturers who
are all dead,
Her strength is still strong on this long
journey to the bigger city.
I fiddle through that plastic box of old
cassette tapes. My finger picking out a
title to fill the radio's mouth. To fill it up with
so much music; that it's old speakers *****
out noise.

Choking the engine of the car's battery,
the lights on the gauges flicker,
And I pull over the side of the road,
it's dark outside and cold. Not of the night
but of the music's chords.

I'm alone.

Waiting for a stranger to stop by,
and jumpstart my car. But only a God,
could jumpstart my heart.
As I reminisce on what it felt like being in
love. A station I had once tuned into,
with all it's cheesy love songs. And their
catchy hooks.

I miss the sound of the music.

A small car pulls up beside me. Yellow
as the sunflower open to the sun.
Bright as a smile; of someone you're glad to
see. 'How long has it been,' you'd ask them.

The window went down;
as a girl with a smile greeted me only by a gaze.
'Do you need help stranger,' she asked.

'Help with a lot of things, I doubt you could
come up to. But you're welcome to try,' my
heart replied.

I nodded slightly, hoping this could be
a quick fix. The quickest way for me out
of a conversation.

But my car was dead.

The stranger offered me a ride to the next town,
to grab a mechanic. I reluctantly agreed.
And before I hopped in that box Sunny,
I had to grab my plastic case of cassettes.

She seemed keen on what contents I had
at hand. Insisting I put a tape inside her radio.
'Hey that's my favourite band,' she said.

I never smiled as real in that moment,
than I ever did before.
With so much in common, we fed our ears
on good music, with our similar tastes.
Making it to the next town, I gave my
thanks.

Not expecting much back.

'Here's my number. We should hang out sometime
to listen to some good music.
I'll trade you my number for a couple of tapes,'
she said.

She drove off leaving me with a smile,
a number, and a reason for them both. As I
wondered where next this story would go...

I'd love to tune into that.