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6h · 15
If Only I Could
If only I could
I’d make love to you
one utterly beautiful
word at a time
writing sonnets
between your ribs
planting commas
On the curve of your neck
pausing for ellipses
where your breath
catches mine
With my eyes
I’d chase yours down
a library aisle
tugging at the spines
unwritten stories
opening chapters
where our hearts
get caught in the margins
Eagerly, I’d begin
how I’d linger
together
we’d savor each other
line by sweet line.
Your tears
breathtaking joy?
I’d catch them
like fireflies
holding their light
in my palms
then kiss them
from your cheeks
leaving trails
of poetry
you’d only find
when you smiled.
And my chest
pressed to yours
would thunder
like a drumline
syncopated
uncontainable.
For that deepest yearning
no feast of flesh could satisfy
I’d lay my words
on your skin like blessings
scripture only we could read
my lips spelling out spells
that unravel every doubt
hesitation.
And when you’d tremble
beneath me
it wouldn’t be from
desire alone
It’d be the way my words
fed your soul
the way I’d tattoo love
into your fingertips
until you couldn’t
hold anyone else
without feeling me.
Our bodies wouldn’t
just meet;
they’d converse
sighs unspoken
agreement
declaration you’ve been
waiting for.
The kind of passion
that doesn’t just exist—
it rewrites.
And as the end of our story
approached
as we found ourselves
draped in moonlight
and metaphors
I’d lean in close
pressing words
into the molly
of your ear


Did
You
Enjoy
What’s
In
The
Cup
……


I.
Love.
You.



And you’d know
it wasn’t just a statement.
It was the whole poem
If only
8h · 40
Jazz Becomes You
Vibes caught
static between
snares
hips swinging
searching for music
that played their truth.
The bass line
wasn’t just music
it was breath
pulling ribs apart
to let
the rhythm in
Fingers slid down
necks like frets
pressing
into chords
that hummed notes
down thighs
in time
Wanting
too blow
saxophones
Spitting all over
the reed
Jazz
isn’t something
you hear
it’s something
that happens
to you
cymbal crashed
piano keys
Play confessions
no hymn
would dare too
black and white blending
spilled burbon over
smoke-stained wood
Feet tapping
out codes no one
else could decipher
syncopated riff
breaking patterns
breaking rules
The off beat
gospel you
couldn’t write down.
The room
swayed with them
walls leaning in
leaning closer
to the crescendo
the saxophone
came in
it was a third hand
tracing lines
down spines
nobody dared
to blow before.
This is jazz:
argument
turned
foreplay
rough pull
dissonance
before harmony
slips in
like a satin sheets
you weren’t ready for.
Hands hit bodies
like drumsticks
slap rolling
inhale percussion
moaning muted horn solo
They weren’t just
feeling the music;
they were
becoming it
beating out solos
on each other’s skin.
The sweat smelled
like vinyl records
warm grooves
pressed
into the air
spinning
slow spins
catching sparks
needle skating over scars
was a minor chord
that somehow
still felt major.
learning
how to recognize itself.
Passion spilling out
her mouth
scotch over his
mahogany wood
The rimshot
of her sigh
Improvision
improvisation
of his kiss
Scatting sound
echoing
from lips
His horn
hit her high note
one that split
the room in half
she leaned closer
saying
“Do you hear that?”
But he wasn’t listening
to the music anymore.
He was listening
to her pulse
that slick
heartbeat drumming
solo against
his wrist.
This is what
jazz does
You don’t
just play
It consumes.
becomes the air
the walls
sweat
the skin
It’s the music
you don’t hear
but feel
right there
in the space
where your ribs
can’t hold
the notes.
Jazz
doesn’t end
it just fades
into the background
waiting for you
to join again
Sometimes you and a person become jazz music
1d · 24
No Title Needed
You’re  the unsaved drafts
in my notes app
the one I keep rewriting
but never quite finish.
You’re the glitch
in my favorite playlist
skipping just enough
to make me rewind and replay.
You’re that $20 bill I forgot
in my coat pocket
found right
when I was broke
enough to pray for it.
When you’re here
Let it be like
late-night drive-thru l
fries hot and golden
perfect until the last one
reminder to savor
because nothing good
lasts forever
Your laugh?
That’s the secret ingredient
In your  grandmother’s gumbo
the one nobody
can replicate
Tasting flavors sitting
on tongues
tells me stories
I didn’t know I needed
to remember.
But your
no easy recipe
you’re hand-rolled sushi
with too much wasabi
slap of heat I chase
because the burn feels
like a dare
I double dog dare you
To say yes
To us
I sip the sweetness sighs
like chamomile
but brace myself
for the bite
of your truths
never sugarcoated
and somehow
that’s the part
that tastes like love.
I’m not here
to cage you.
Go, dance barefoot
on somebody
else’s rooftop
call the moon
by her first name
lose your voice
screaming
at concerts for songs
you don’t know.
Just promise me
you’ll come
back with stories
or at least let me be
the one
you text at 2 a.m.
when you’re drunk
enough to admit
you miss me.
We don’t need titles
no labels
to make this fit
neatly into anyone’s
definition
Because defining
means endings
And there no end to us
You’re the blueprint
I study without tracing
the corner of the puzzle
I start with
but I don’t need
the picture
on the box to find
my way
Because when we’re together
we’re jazz at 2 a.m
improvised scatting flawless
messy in all the right ways.
You strum my nerves
like bassline
plucking
the parts of me
I didn’t know could sing
Be earworm hook
stuck on repeat
beat my skin memorizes
without permission.
So, don’t worry
about defining us.
We’re vinyl, baby
scratched and spinning
but always worth
the needle drop.
We’re the unwritten verse
at the end of a love song
the kind you hum
in the shower
when nobody’s
listening
And if this is all
we ever are
the pause between
heartbeats
sparks before the fire
ellipsis in an unfinished
sentence of…
then so be it.
As long as when
you’re here
you love me loud
love me free
Love language me
Words and music
Speak to me
love me like a confession
only we were meant
to keep.

— The End —