This visitor is the topic of conversation in my life recently,
However it has been for centuries.
When he knocks on your door
You know its time to go
Even if things are left behind, there is no more time.
I see that many fear this visitor
Even praying that it wont come knocking on their door.
But I'm waiting...
I'm waiting.
It's not that I'm expecting this visitor any time soon
Nor do I wish to see him coming to my door step.
No it's more like
If he comes, I am ready.
If my time comes it comes.
So I sit here staring at my feet
While everyone frantically prays and denies his existence
I'm here contemplating what to eat next
While everyone is scared that they might be next.

I cannot keep track of my love
I know not how much or how far
She can stretch for you
Or how many barrels she fills
Liquid and shifting and measurable,
I do know that she runs wild
Abundant and free
She sprints with the wind
And laughs, elated
We spin together under sunrises
And relish in the new dawn
Sunlight kisses reminding us
So much of your touch
I cannot keep track of my love
I know only that she grows
Each dawn, she grows.

Love, i wish you were near
and wipe away
my lonely tears.

Help me achieve a
Satisfying slumber
to swept away
Today's worries
and fears.

Please guide my heart
to never stray
and be braver than
A lions roar,
then
in your arm's reach
I'll stay.

There was a promised life
Given to a certain girl,
Down from the train,
A black girl named Jula.

    Who are you Jula?
    Jula knows her name.

Jula! Master plays his song,
(The voice of money)
- help around the house,
Help around the rooms,
Help for me Jula!

   Jula knows her name.

Jula was called to be whatever
Master needed,
To look to his desireous needs,
Jula just a girl.

Come Jula,
Take me away to better days,
Dance for me Jula!
(Voice of the Master)

    Jula bathes in a wooden
    Barrel, she got no shoes,
    Go Jula, serve like royalty,
    Go Jula, shine like my star!
    Sing for me Jula!

Jula knows her name:

  "They say that God knows all,
    So He knows Jula and made
    Her life like it is,
    This is Jula's destiny,
    God made it this way"
Now Master preaches.

  Jula knows her name,
  Who are YOU Jula?

Jula, mistress of the Master,
Put him to bed,
Naked she lay next to him,
Jula, she knows her name.

   Who are you Jula?
   You just a little girl,
   Where is your song?

The Master calls,
The Master's hands tired
From wielding the whip,
Come here Jula!
Come here Jula!
The slave girl stripped,
The slave girl *****,
Jula knows her name.

   Jula, where is my food?
   Master tired from the whippin',
    Master needs his food,
     Jula know her name.

Jula, who are you Jula?
Jula knows her name.

A dialect
so different
that gargles from our gulping mouths
was formed in the teenage years
the gap between child and adult.
It was formed in between the steaming windows
of our first shared room
was wrought by the sticky fingers of our midnight-feasting.
It developed over time,
your African ancestors licking at the chocolate in your teeth
sharing mingled moments of warmth and sadness
with the carefree twang of my pacific past.
We lay together
your dark skin melting into mine
and over time
our throats sculpted their own language
as Babylonian linguists rejoiced
at the Genesis of us.

But over time
the grammar stumbled
and diplomacy broke between us,
and the shared bed of our childhood
was cracked open by the semantics of our youth.
My tongue clung to the dancing prose,
as if to return to the moment of our first embrace,
my sheets ached for the scent of your skin;
Arched back missing your equatorial warmth.
I gushed out words for you
Choking on damp notions of our shared past.
I tried to force in the commas
that married your phrase to mine;
straining to utter those sounds that were so sacredly ours .
But my verses had no meaning,
when the apostle lost all faith.

And then
one day
like breath returning to a body,
our dialect once again filled you
head to toe, heavy with the wet weight of love.
And just as before
you spilled into my arms
Our tongues mingled in a garbled kiss
Of language, more physical than my owns hands
clinging to your butter-skin.
I felt you breathing against my heart
heard whispered extracts of your internal litanies
drifting out through parted lips.
And I felt again
the mangled words
the beautiful drawl
This dialect, so definitely ours.