Love was considered to be more of an understatement.
Therefore I disregarded it from my cerebrum.
Until the inevitable occurred,
And like a thief in the night,
He happened.
He captured my interest and relentlessly held my mind hostage.
My hypothesis?
Definitely not Love at first sight
I mean, how cliche.


Nevertheless, it was far from lust.
Because we connected on a mental level.
In fact, I found him intellectually stimulating,
Because I craved his knowledge.
And I anticipated what his thoughts were.

His vocabulary,
serenades my eardrum,
As I find myself admiring his optimistic perception about life.
He had his premise for anything that uttered from his lips,
I mean, He spoke with confidence,
Unlike your typical male, that perpetually broadcast their arrogance.
He spoke with passion
That was unwillingly infectious.



I wish it was easy to ignore his eminent ways.
But I found them captivating,
I appreciated his brain power.
Cause,
What's more powerful than a black man using his brain at full capacity?

It's as if we are dancing in an never ending waltz with the wind.
Constantly being turned and led, falling in love and falling apart in the same moment in time.
All the colors around us turning into a brilliant blaze of fiery autumn, setting the world in flames.
And when the dance comes to a final bow, we are left out in the cold.
Always wanting a home to belong to, yet only waiting to be swept away again.
The wind is a lover we all want, yet is cruel and heartless.
Taking us in only to throw us back out again.
Entranced by what we want life to be, yet deceived by the beauty of it all.  
The harsh reality of it all is that life is but a dance and when it ends,
we are forgotten.

Seeing this woman standing
before me fully dressed. Svelte,
sleek in her black dress, legs smooth,
she appeals to all my senses,
smells of lotions from heaven, lanolin
moisturizing electrifying all my senses
straining my eyeballs and all my tendons
I approach, warily.
Not wanting to scare her away I say
words of honey melting off my dripping tongue
scheming
and oh so short of breath I attempt
to impress this pretty woman
fully dressed.

i am reading poems—
all of it reminds me of you.
so i thought,
why not write one about you?

let me write the sorrow i feel during your absence;
the pain i feel is an absolute madness.
let me write about the butterflies;
those eyes will always leave me hypnotised.
let me write about the comfort;
your way with words will always be a sunburst.

A wound is a well
save that a well can be full;
a wound just empties.

To love is to bleed
delicate: a maroon flow.
One can love too much.

Every time I think
about how she’s not here, not
lying next to me
the sutures are loosened: as soft

as unearthed marrow.
No amount of milk, honey,
copious *****

can heal the hair-thin
fault line in the core of me:
the best medicine

is our bright laughter.
A pair of wind-chimes letting
breeze cast its blessing.

The good news: she cares
enough to call me by name,
a sufficient grace.

The bad news: a wound
will sometimes reopen, and
will consume me should
I not allow light to trespass.

A wound is a well
but, unlike a well, remains
after it is dry.

I would reach into my chest
And wrestle my heart back into rhythm
Because only beating hearts can take a beating,
And maybe you don’t know it
But if making me bleed, leaves you wanting more
Then each time you disappoint me
I’ll keep a little life in my veins
So I can be resuscitated.

I cannot even
Begin to tell you how much
I've missed our friendship.