I have no tears left for grief.
Instead I write
Them down in pitch black ink.
No,
I have no more tears to cry.

And

I have no voice left to weep.
Instead I pluck Harp strings
that sigh
Soft songs into the lonely nights.
I
Have no voice left to cry.

We love to see those
special ones we love
Make changes for us.

But
during the evolution,
Did we remember to
Love who they are?

Afterwards,
Are they still deep down
The same one we fell in love with?
Or did we lose them while
Sculpting them into a new image

The
butterflies that fluttered
in your heart after our eyes met,
Have bloomed into carnations
Full of stars constellated
With passion between
your thighs.
I
can feel the heat
of your unseen
As it begins to rise
As the sun on the horizon
until your sensuous reaches zenith
and I witness
Your flower petals kaleidoscope and unfurl
As you release sweet nectar that pearls,
with aromatic efflorescence,
Onto the the surface
Of my stamen

You're
the Amaryllis
Among the roses.
I found myself falling
For your confident elegance,
And Intelligence long
before I fell for your
passion.

You
Devoted the time to
Become versed in my
vernacular.
Now
study the pages filled
With ink as I stand,  
vulnerable and naked before you
In all my melanin.