Your naked body
Pressed on mine
We kissed

I thought that
I should feel
Something

Thrill, euphoria
Lust, love
Or bliss

But no
I felt
Nothing

I have not learned how to sit still,
**** it, I never will.  Nor have I learned
How not to wave my arms when I speak;
By now I should know some words
For the mourners’ congregation by the gravestone;
Not me.

I hate drum-rolls and ******* guitar licks
That blasts in the frozen food section.  
I cannot just ignore Spider-man movies,
I’d rather descend to the ninth rung of hell.
Hogs eat corn, "Je n’aime pas le popcorn",
Hippo gluttony in fields of river plants
Chomp, chomp, chomp...

Teenagers chewing gum, taking selfies-
Where is the love, where is the love?
I can’t talk to Siri without cursing.
Who cares who wins the football game?
Could I see a beautiful woman
And not undress her in my mind?

Sorry, it’s the meds.  What have I learned
But "blessed be patience"
Which I interpret as
The world is too busy with its traffic of red ants-
Stand aloof, keeping out of their path.
  
I go to join the cult of crazies in the park,
Muttering metaphors to keep us off the drink,
Winding our watches, feeding birds,
Headphones blasting requiems of Pergolesi,
As the young ones keep their distance.

I love honey
on my tongue with butter
until it grows in my stomach
multiplying into gallons of
honey (sickly sweet)
suffocating me with a sweetness
I can breathe through
slowly steadily
all your pretty skin
and eyes that haven't lit up
nearly enough lately

so many pretty boys
(dark eyes thick eyebrows carved arms full lips Adams apple)
and I am mesmerized
only
by your furrowed brow
even as the chocolate eyed boy
touches my arm

I am dripping Melanin and honey.
I am black without apology.

I am the sheep that leads the shepherd,
not that the shepherd would ever lead me.
For you see,
good things don't come in threes,
they come in ones.
One bee.
A forest with one tree
One snake that made Eve flee.

I am the thunder that frightens the child,
scaring even those who are wild.
For you see,
butterflies don't fly,
they soar,
wings causing waves,
so strong,
it disrupts even the planet's core.

I am the pen that writes the tales,
a myth,
a legend,
attempts to amaze never fail.
For you see,
It is the writer that feels,
and the reader that touches.
My stories,
live,
not messed by airbrushes.

She was like music,
and I longed to dance.

Her heart was the beat,
and I begged for the chance.

Her words were the vocals,
and I was put in a trance.

Her smile was the melody,
and I fell in love at first glance.