she always make the first cup,
for the pleasure of pleasuring
is but another love poem
in disguise,
she, a prolific writer in dance,
in her own right nights

never enough milk,
yet never tell,
nonetheless,
my lips loud kiss each other
the exhaled aaah
can be heard just far enough,
to reach her kitchened, richened ears

who enjoys more that first cuppa,
she or me,
is a debate reinvigorated daily,
the judges remain secluded,
happily refusing to a verdict issue,
necessitating a new trial,
no mock this one,
for it is a daily-born creation
a Hawaiian java creamery of just
another love poem

5/13/17 7:24am

I wish it would
well rain harder
I wish that
the sky water would be salty
like my tears.
this way both could slide down my face unidentifiable
I wish the thunder was louder
just to help save me from my thoughts

I love how
well simply how
I'm walking to the beat,
crunching gravel to meet the sound
of my favorite song
even though it's no longer playing
I love that
the rain is blurring my vision
eventhough I couldn't see anyway
I love that with every step
I'm taking a shower
the rain provides me with good cleansing
I'm slowly scrubbing away every
remark, laugh, judge, scar and stain
and as my jeans, blouse, and shoes get wet,
I'm washing away some of this too
hidden deep within the seams

and yet some people wonder
why
why does she like the rain
well
It's not just rain
it's a friend
that I can talk to and actually leave with
a cleansed soul.