And she confessed, and she cried, and she apologised, and I asked,
You ******* ****** him off?
It was nothing, she said, I didn't feel anything. I swear, please forgive me baby, please.
I can’t believe this, I said, get away from me. You ******* disgust me.
She began apologising again, profusely, and I said, barely in a whisper
But you *******... ****** him off?
I said it to myself really, to let it sink in, to fully process it.
She placed a shaky hand on my chest and said, I didn't feel anything at all, I swear,
It was like I was just going through the motions, I swear. You've got to understand me, baby.
Stop ******* touching me, I said. I was truly and absolutely disgusted by her.
She looked scared, nervous. She moved back. She was not used to seeing me this way. There was a pause,
Silence.
Slowly I moved towards her, deliberately, held her face in both my hands
And looked at her,
She was still sobbing softly, looking up at me like a frightened child
I carefully studied her face
Her lips
These lips, I thought to myself, as I moved a finger to touch them gently
These soft, elegant lips
That each night I kiss, touch, linger on... wrapped around another man’s ****?
She was probably on her knees, his **** half way in her mouth... No. ****. I’m only punishing myself thinking about it.
I took a step back and looked away from her. I mustn't think that way.
Her lips are exactly the same as they were before, nothing about them has changed.
The damage is within me, I understand that. Nothing has changed physically, just my perception.
Just my thoughts. Thoughts can **** you, I swear.
If only... if only I could... I don’t know... these words seem to die before they leave my mouth, respect for her has long since dissipated.
I thought we had something. I really did. I thought we’d made promises that only us, broken souls, could keep.

What about us? Huh?
What about the beautiful mornings walking along the shore, the day before us
Wayfarer shades hiding your eyes, Canon camera hanging from your neck
Me sidestepping pebbles and hot coral like why didn't I wear slippers?
And the not so beautiful mornings spent hugging the toilet, puking
Holding your hair back, saying I’m never gonna drink again, never
But no, Llahi, don’t be silly, I didn't say get rid of the Tequila bottle.
That's Sunday morning after a wild weekend
The afternoon is lazy, torpid, us feeling ****** up
But the night is quiet, cool
And these conversations we have at 2 am lying on your mom’s living room sofa
Sharing things with me that you couldn't with others
Sharing things with you that are more intimate than ***,
Sometimes a dreamer needs a realist to ground them
And sometimes a realist needs a dreamer to help them fly,
That was what we said, what we were
But it has all disappeared before a fleeting moment of lust,
Nothing is the same
Nothing is the same
Nothing is
Nothing,
See how much smaller we've become?
And I never want to see your face, not for a long time
But maybe I just want to kiss you this last time
While your tears are still streaming down your cheeks
Tasting of regret, of broken promises, of ringing emptiness
Because you have failed me
Or maybe we have failed each other
Surely, the universe has failed us both
But you don’t know how much I love you, you ******* *****,
I wonder if the sunsets will taste the same
Without me.

Saturday night, offered to read your palm

When I don't even know how to read palms,

It was just an excuse to get to touch you.

And oh, touch you I did,

All over.


Sunday morning, nursing hangovers with scenic strolls,

Holding hands

Until our palms get sweaty and we let go.

And next weekend we'll do this again,

All over.

We walked along the ocean for about an hour
Lost in conversation
I suppose it was needed after misunderstandings six months ago
We encountered lots of things on the way
There were mangroves and wet sand, hot coral, dry sand, sea ****, couple dried up sea urchins
A bunch of other ****
Just things the tide had dumped
We stopped for a while to watch the sun
Which was setting, and do you remember how you said
It looked as if, far out on the horizon, this great orangey-yellow ball that was suspended in the sky with invisible ropes
Was slowly being lowered into the ocean, sinking
Never mind me, you said, I’m not making any sense
I understood what you meant, I think, I wanted to kiss you
Waves were breaking, gently crashing into our bare feet
And I noticed this cut on your foot, just a little one,
I think you hadn’t even realised it was there
But I kept quiet, didn’t say ****
And all your toenails were painted blue
And the waves would break over them and slowly retreat,
Leaving your feet wet and toenails glistening,
It was kind of a pretty thing to look at.

I don’t know how to be romantic
I don’t know how to write poetry
All I know
Is that you are a mermaid
And I am drowning,
Will you save me?

A no-strings-attached thing is easy to arrange
It sounds exciting too, seems very straightforward
But sometimes you get caught up in things you don’t expect
Before you know it, you start caring
You develop feelings
You learn things about the other person
Her middle name, her favourite music, food
Her pet peeves, ambitions
You learn her innermost thoughts
Her insecurities, her ****** proclivities,
The little birthmark just above her mons *****
The one that she says looks like a map of the Dominican Republic
You lie in bed with her all day
She teaches you how to swear in Farsi.
You **** her every day.

One day she sees you making out with this random ****** and she flips
You say, but we said no strings attached or did we not?
It’s not as simple as that though, it never is
But this girl, she believes in you
She’s a paragon of patience
She sits you down and tells you to listen to her carefully
She explains to you that now you are sleeping with her on the regular
Your body is somehow her body too, partly, and vice versa
Says she understands that you are not together officially
But intimacy usually comes with an implied exclusiveness.
You say, Ok, I've heard you. And I understand where you’re coming from.
Then you tell her to *******.

Time passes
You begin to miss her.
But you’re pride won’t let you call her.
You have *** three times with two different girls in one weekend
One of those girls has a boyfriend, you **** her in a night club restroom.
The other one on the beach a day after
Then a few hours later in her bedroom.
In the morning her room is all sandy,
Going home you begin reflecting on things
You've learnt one thing for sure:
However much top-shelf ***** you get, it doesn't compare to the love of a good girl
So it doesn't matter how many lovers you have in this world
If none of them give you the world.

You swallow your pride and call her
She can’t make it, she says.
But she comes the next day in the evening.
You explain everything,
How it felt like she was tethering you to her
How you took it all too lightly.
You’re not too good at it, talking about your feelings
You say that what she’d told you that day had gone through one ear, out the other
So you had to learn it all by yourself, you had to go through it
Finally, you apologise.
You’re very sincere.
She asks you, so is this closure?
You don’t want it to be, but you don’t know if you actually deserve her
****, you don’t know if she’d even take you back.
If she does, you've still got a lot to prove.
You’ll be in luck, but you’ll be starting on nothing.
If she doesn't then you knew and blew a good thing.

My **** is numb
My brain is numb
My heart is numb
From all that *******, drinking, smoking, and partying.
It felt so marvelous
So marvelous
But now I am so numb
So numb
Numb
Numb

But she still wants to ****,
She's right here and she says she wants to ****
But I am drained, so drained
I can only manage to lean in and kiss her
She pushes me off and says, "No, don't kiss me. It's way too personal. Just **** me."
I tell her, "Let’s sleep a while, batteries need recharging."
And she says to me, "I don't think the batteries are the problem, baby boy. I think I might need to get myself a new flashlight."

Jesus Christ. I am a ****** married to a pornstar.

in front of a full-length mirror in the bedroom she stands.
naked, she is completely naked.
she is not like other girls i've been with, they would never
stand stark naked in my presence in the middle of the day, the room beaming with light,
while i was sitting and watching from the other end of the room- no, they would feel shy.
to be naked is to be vulnerable.
not with her, she is standing in front of the mirror
cupping her ******* one before the other, raising them, examining them, and telling me
that one, the left one, grew first.
even now it's still a little bigger than this one, she says, if you look carefully.
it is as if she's describing and showing me something commonplace; like maybe her hands
or her feet.
mistaken for a work art,
so fine-***** and delicate,
her beauty is ethereal,
it is almost satanic.

these midday ******* are always the laziest.
she moves slow, ritualistic almost, looks up at me
then continues, her mouth moving in long, sweet, agonizing reaches.
i **** her against the door,
her fingers digging into my fro
sometimes i **** her from behind, she holds on tightly to the bathroom sink
like her life depends on it.
we are always *******. it's like we cannot get enough.
it's like we're ******* in order to get an answer.
an answer about something we're so desperate to know.
thinking about it now it almost seems sorrowful.

she likes to be naked in front of me.
she doesn't understand that i am not moved by nakedness, per se
i am taken by glimpses of femininity;
like seeing her brush her hair in front of the mirror in the morning,
her arms raised and bent at the elbows
one hand brushing the length of her hair and the other following through,
the hollows of each armpit bare;
or seeing her preparing for the gym,
tank top and tights, running shoes
tying her ponytail really tight, like an Olympic gymnast's,
her face pure, divine, free of make up
this
this child of a goddess,
i become drunk seeing such beauty.

after dinner she is reading a book, lying down on the bed
her head propped up with pillows
i get on the bed and immediately begin to unzip her denim shorts
what are you doing? she says this without removing her eyes from the book
i don't respond, i begin to pull her shorts down
seriously, what are you doing? this time she lowers the book and looks at me
she lets me do it though, she even raises her torso up slightly when i'm pulling her underwear down.
but no, no, stop it,
she really wants to read
also, she tells me it's uncomfortable to have penetrative *** on a full stomach.
i am confused. why did she let me take off her shorts and underwear then?
i give up and lie down
she's got all the pillows so i lie with my head between her legs
using her pelvis as a pillow,
we stay in this position for a while
until i turn my head and glance up at her; she is looking down at me and breathing calmly,
she closes the book and says,
baby, why do you torture me like this?
beneath my ear it is wet.

how do i make you understand this feeling?
how do i go about
converting it into text?

these are not just words.
they are a window
into my mind, into my world.

My muse, my muse,
She’s here right now
She just took a shower and her hair is still wet.
She's wearing a bathrobe, she walks up to the bed and sits
When she crosses one leg over the other I catch a flash of her thighs
Inviting thighs, long legs
She has pretty feet
And pretty ankles,
I always look at feet.
She has delicate wrists
She has long thumbs, here she is
Now leafing through a magazine
With those long thumbs,
Long fingernails.
Her shoes are on the floor, shoes that she wore last night
They've fallen over on the carpet,
My eyes find my way back to her
She seems to have found something interesting in the magazine
Here she is, concentrated on it, her back is straight
In this light, this natural light,
Without make up,
She looks impossibly lovely,
Renoir would paint her.

I get out of bed and walk into the shower.

There’s something strangely intimate
About taking a shower in a girl’s bathroom,
Shampoo bottles and hair conditioners all around me
Water cascading down my bare chest
Recollecting and replaying scenes from the night before:
Unbuttoning her jeans, pulling them off
Seeing her Hello Kitty underwear
And laughing, and thinking it was cute
And saying, umm… so how old are you again?
Humour always works, yes, humour always works.

I love ******* this girl.
It seems as though I'm always ******* her.
At night in the living room, on the sofa
Unfastening her stockings and slowly rolling them off,
Next her skirt, then her underwear…
Sweet parting flesh
I begin thinking of how it’ll be, how it’ll go down

She's always in something classy,
But man, it seems as though I'm always ******* her.
Sometimes I strip everything off her body,
But I ask her to leave her earrings and heels on; they confirm her nakedness
Hoop earrings
Red lipstick
Red heels
I lie in the middle of the bed, lights are dim, she climbs onto the bed
Curls up between my legs, begins by kissing on my stomach...
Great lovers lie in hell, the poet says.
Great lovers lie in hell.

I'm falling asleep afterwards, but not her
*** invigorates me, she says, tying her hair in a ponytail
This girl, she has the effect of lighting a matchstick in the dark.
She lays beside me and begins to read Jeanette Winterson
And just before I succumb to a deep slumber I remember something and tell her,
*Baby, baby, baby, your Morse code interferes with my heartbeat.

You’re a book
A book with a convoluted plot, sometimes it’s hard keeping up
I’m slowly trying to learn you
I tread ever-so-care-fully
But when you are naked you are much more complaisant
It feels like we’re on the same page
In the penumbral light of my bedroom I climb on top of you and begin to kiss you
Under the sheets it is as if we are pigeons in the eaves, safe and cosy
Two souls coming together via flesh
My hands reach out for your *******,
They reach out for love.

I see you in a new light.
I see you waking up with me in the first light of the morning
White bed sheets and sleepy smiles, your hair tousled
Your eyes plain, your lips unrouged
You’re skin is soft
We make love and have breakfast outside.
My muse.
The sun rises too fast
I find myself looking at you,
Perfect white teeth and a symmetrical face.
I’m way too fond of you to notice flaws
But if I did, wouldn’t they just serve to particularise your beauty?
It’s alright this, isn’t it?
This kind of connubial life we’re living.

Words are all I have.
I am a poet and you like my tongue
This very tongue that holds the small space between your thighs and makes you tremble,
This very tongue that, you say, sounds very unAfrican-
Why don’t you write like an African child?
Well, it is because of the way I grew up and the where I grew up and the who I grew up with.
Like that? Does that sound African enough?

The first time I took my t shirt off in front of you, you said I was thin
No, no,
I remember exactly what you called me: tubercular.
You are bold. I like that a lot.
But also, you’re kind of a *****.
I am in love with you, the whole of you.
You and your nice smelling hair.
You and your dreamy brown eyes.
You and your half-hearted *******.

I don't want to be rich,
I don't want to be famous,
I want to be crazy, and I want a fine *****,
You can't blame us-
Me and these voices inside my head.
I don't want to **** a skinny magazine-cover model,
I just want the girl next door to get in my bed,
I want to drink wine from the bottle
And **** on a water fountain.
I want a girl with little make up and more substance,
But then,
The girl next door's nice too, and see she lives right over that fence,
I want to go back home so I can drive my car
And race with my friends, and maybe die on one of those sharp bends,
But if not, I want to stargaze with my mom, show her my favourite star,
I want a girl to ride with me in a drop-top Benz,
And if she'd let her hair down, I'd let the top down,
I want to teach my little brother how to drive,
I want to see a fish that has drowned,
I want something nice in my life,
I want to drink a beer with a homeless person while discussing politics,
I want some spice in my life,
I want brand new Nike kicks,
I want to pay a **'
For just a hug,
I want to grow a huge fro,
I want to drink beer from a jug,
I want to spit on a green self-righteous eco-mentalist,
I want to write a poem that inspires a soul,
I want to skip school to watch House and The Mentalist,
I want to get lost in a black hole,
I want to teach my little brother how to sail,
I don't want to have *** on the beach ever again, ever, ever!
I don't want to go to jail,
I want to meet a hipster who's funny and clever,
I want to learn how to love,
I want something witty to be written on my tombstone,
I want to some day believe in the great power above,
I want to enter a no-go zone,
I want a girl who appreciates the simpler things of this world,
I want to punch Bush and Obama in the face,
I want to tongue kiss that American Apparel girl,
I want to look my mom in the face
And tell her how much I appreciate her-
How many of you have done that before?
I don't want a coat made of fur,
I want to write a hell of a lot more,
I want to have a baby, preferably a daughter,
And I'd prefer it if she were lesbian, I dont want her dating guys like me,
I want a glass of water
And two pills, or maybe three,
I want to live far from all my exes,
I want to write a book one day
About the two sexes,
I want to wake up dead someday
Satisfied with how I lived.

I’m all for pretty girls getting drunk and making bad decisions at 2 am on a Saturday night
Tongue kissing, bodies pinned against the door, hot ***
To last no more than the night does.

The sun came up in the morning, yellow and bright
And me in her bathroom taking a ****
Thinking
And her still on her bed, awake, both hands on her forehead, eyes closed
Sinking.
What in the name of all that is holy had she done?

This was that same girl: the one who's always hated my guts,
Is repulsed by so much as someone mentioning my name
This was that same girl: buttoned up blouse and pressed trousers
Impeccable manners
Reserved demeanour
Innocent, sweet
What the hell had she just done?

I never liked her attitude
Never liked her friends
Never liked the way she looked at me,
Everything about her made me angry
Until the alcohol.
To me it was different girl
Different hair
Different lips, eyes
Different hips, stomach
Thighs,
Different everything.
To her it was simply a mistake.

In her bedroom I look around
A few pictures of some people I don’t know cut out from magazines and stuck on her walls
A couple of romance novels                                                              
A porcelain vase on her desk
With no flowers in it.
God knows I don’t belong here,
I really don’t.

The night before she'd told me she was bisexual
It just sort of slipped off her tongue,
I realised this when we got naked
Because she appeared gauche in front of my ****.
Kind of awkward but I didn’t mind,
All I wanted was to **** her
Hate **** her
All I wanted was for her to get on her knees
Me to hold her by her hair and ******* her
Into a coma.

Andrea Dworkin is turning in her grave right now,
She has ****** me to hell a thousand times
But I could care less,
I never felt such strong anger and deep pleasure at the same time,
It was glorious.
Just glorious.

She says I'm a bright guy
With dark thoughts,
She thinks I'm too cynical
When I’m at my desk, writing
Wearing these black rimmed glasses
And drinking
From that half empty bottle
Of liquor.
She says we’re polar opposites
And I think she’s right,
She always seems to have a song on her lips
I merely have curse words on mine.

She’s working on getting a tan she says
Lying by the pool with her friend
Soaking in the sun,
What do you think? I’m slowly getting there, aren't I?
She twists around in front of me
Flaunting her beach body,
Soon I’ll be the same colour as you, just wait and see.

She shuts the bedroom door
I untie the laces of her bikini
And drop them on the floor
Revealing everything there is
To reveal
***** lines
Lighter shade skin
And what most boys will want from her
But won’t get.
Kinda makes me feel good about myself.

You make me laugh a lot, she says, you really make me happy,
That makes me feel a little weird inside
Because I haven’t felt anything like it in a while,
I like this girl, I really do
She’s always got this positive vibe about her
With that head full of curls
And that heart full of dreams,
Life just feels golden.

“I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.”*
Charles Bukowski

Her soft, elegant lips
Form a happy smile,
A sharp contrast with her moist eyes.
A magnificent ruin.
It was her impassioned spirit that led them through
As they hovered on tiptoe
Into uncharted waters.
Sooner enough,
Innocent affection flowered
Into overwhelming passion.
The candle of love was lit,
And as it flickered
He was able to look into her eyes,
Not deep inside,
But just enough to see a reflection of himself-
Look at me. What am I doing? Is this right?
With that same light
She was able to look in his heart
And see him as nothing
But an apostle of pleasure.

She forever drifted off into reverie
And when shaken up from it,
She got up to chase a mirage,
Pulling and tugging and urging him along too
But he only made token efforts to find it.
And it finally made sense-
Those many, many nights,
Where there were more drinks and less lights,
And the grey plume of smoke from his cigarette constantly rose up and clouded his vision,
He only saw the real him,
Never the real her.

Tonight is something different.
Not the cinemas, not the bars, not the restaurants.
Tonight we chose to lie on the front deck of my dad’s catamaran,
In total silence.
Just gazing at the sky above.
Your head rested on my chest,
My fingers twirling and digging in your hair
As if there was something I was searching for.
Above us, the silver moon stands out in brilliant splendor,
And perfect contrast with the deep, dark, night sky.

I twist my head slightly
                           And look over to the shore
Where I spot tiny silhouettes of little children playing on the beach,
Kicking a ball and running and dancing about full of energy.
Their distant playful shouts and screams are carried across to us
By a pleasant gust of wind that brushes past,
Whoosh!
And the boat dances in the waves.
A slow, rocking motion.
As we lay
In silence.

We’re standing on the roof
Drunk off cheap whiskey
Yelling obscenities
Sometime in the a.m.
Below us two girls are French kissing
They look so sweet in their blue jeans.
**** reality,
We're livin' the teenage dream.

She likes the way I paint pictures
With my words
So she painted one for me
With her brush.
She used mostly black, grey
And a lot of different reds.
It was a painting of a naked girl
Standing on a balcony
Of an old decrepit building.
There was something dark, something sinister
About the whole painting.
Maybe it was the choice of colours
Or the girl's dark, sullen eyes.
I don't know why I didn't ask anything,
Like, why is the girl naked?
It all seemed so weird to me
But now, somehow, it makes sense.

She asked me why I didn't have the feeling
The emotion
The passion
That I have in my poems
In real life.
I wanted to say because love doesn't make sense
And hate is frustrating
And happiness is fickle
And sadness is lonesome.
But I didn't, I just shrugged
And remained silent.

She asked me why I was so quiet,
I was nervous, I admit,
But I didn't tell her so
Instead, I told her I preferred to leave my words
To pen and paper.
She smiled and I did too,
There was nothing more to talk about.
Maybe we can kiss? I asked.
She laughed
Yea. Maybe we can kiss.

Now the painting hangs in my room
And I've taken a liking to art.

She passed by last night but ended up sleeping over.
*******, the sheets smell of her,
And of ***.

She's gone now, and he's hungover from her loving.
He sits up on the bed,
Downs the half-empty glass of whiskey
And grabs the packet of cigarettes on the night stand, pulls one out, lights up, takes a long pull,
And thinks about her.
Her pretty little ankles,
Her legs. Oh, her legs.
Her small waist,
Her long curly hair.
Her pretty little fingers.
When he closes his eyes he can still feel them upon his fingertips.

He pours a full glass of whiskey
And drinks half of it in one go, wincing in the process.
He thinks of last summer,
And of the times they had.
It's all memories now. Just memories.
Shelved and forgotten somewhere
As if they were an old dusty record.

He downs the other half of the glass, this time without wincing.
He thinks of the places they made love.
The shower,
The bedroom and even the patio.
The kitchen- that was the best.
They were too busy having ***, he thinks,
While their love died of neglect somewhere in the living room.

He wrote her a letter a while back
And when she read it she got angry.
Said she'd write one back but she didn't know how to express how angry she felt
So he wrote her a note saying; Why not ink it in red, baby?
She laughed,
He was glad to know that sometimes he still made her happy.

She left because she didn't want the pain anymore.
The pain of knowing she shared him with another,
So she left that night, under the 1 o'clock moon,
Carrying her broken heart,
And wearing a sad smile.

He watched her leave
And smiled ruefully,
Thinking that she gave him all her trust, and he misused it,
He abused it,
Until he broke it.
Not because he wanted to, but because he was careless.
But he knows that hardly justifies anything.

People used to say they make a good pair, they work well together.
But so does pain and drugs.
And that's a deadly combination.

Things unsaid,
Empty bed,
Pillowcase soaked in tears-
This is what she's reduced to.

His heart's not broken though, he thinks.
He's been here before,
He knows this feeling;
The wound turns to a scar, and eventually
The scar disappears.
And he knows it's just a matter of time 'fore it all goes,
This heart problem is only temporary.
But in some years it'll be his lungs- he wonders if they've gone black already.

He flips the cigarette-**** while aiming for the ashtray
And misses.
So he picks it up from the carpet and places it there.
Then he bums a new one and lights it
And falls back on his bed-
Goddamit, these sheets smell of her, he thinks,
And of ***.

We kiss
She twirls her tongue in my mouth,
Then gently bites on my lower lip
I kiss her on the neck
Nibble on her earlobe
And whisper something in her ear
She puts her empty glass of wine on the floor
I kiss her on her left shoulder blade
And in the middle of her chest
I move on to her *******, her *******
And kiss on her ribs
And just below her navel
She holds my wholly ***** love
And guides it to her opening
And I wrestle myself inside
And feel her wet ecstasy
As the rain pours
Outside

The delicate scent of your perfume soaked in my sweater
Or the feeling of the last kiss
Lingering
On my lips.
Or my skin's memory of your fingertips,
Or when my eyes fight a losing battle with sleep,
And then it's nothing but dreams of you.
All this
Is the impression you leave on me,
I am an art canvas.

You have a key to my house
Yet you're not my girlfriend.
It's a complicated relationship
And at the same time it's not.
I'm happiest at the bar on a Saturday night
But you always want to stay in.
I'm hungover on a Sunday
But you want to wake up and live.
You're a sweet and pleasant girl
And me, with my simple yet devilish ways,
I am a rogue.

I text you and you come over.
"That skirt," I say, opening the door for you, "I'm pretty sure it can cure cancer."
And with the rapidity of lightning,
You blush crimson.
Now in the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water.
"Is this what you were having for lunch?"
"Yes."
"Really? Frozen pizza and Kool-Aid?" you raise an eyebrow.
"Yes."
"You're so... I dunno... in general, you're just... I dunno... disorganised? clueless about life? stupid? weird? drunk with alarming regularity? irrational? stupid? Wait, did I already say that?"
"Yes you did. But wait, these are good qualities, right?"
"Yup. Just what I look for in a guy," you walk to me and kiss me on the lips,
We kiss some more,
Touching, rubbing,
"Just a sec," I pull away, "I'm sorry if I taste like pizza."
You look at me like I'm an idiot,"Just... shut up and kiss me!"
You're getting wet and excited
Like a child at a water park.
That's an odd comparison,
Well I guess
I am weird.

I'm inside of you,
But I am so convinced that it is not ***,
Such intensity,
Such deepening fulfillment.
No, that was not ***,
It was naked poetry.
I am a poet.

Dark eyes
Black hair
Cigarette in hand
Tattoo on her neck
Right leg crossed
Over left.
Confidence,
Style.
Silent
But bold.

The type of girl you ****
And brag about.

The type of girl you ****
And eventually forget about.

Your fingers
Your dainty fingers, so nimble
The way you roll a cigarette
Then light it and put it in my mouth
And look at me as I smoke.
The smell of vanilla flavoured tobacco
In the air
You lean in to kiss me
Wanting to taste the smoke
From my mouth
We look at each other,
The miracle of mouths and eyes.

It’s always the little things that I remember most,
You lying on your back, naked
Your legs apart, bent at the knee
My tongue in between
The arch in your back
The gentle swelling of your flower
That image of you, in ecstasy
Gasping
Like shortness
Of breath
Oh, the bedroom
And the fun we have in it,
Who said we need to be outdoors
To explore?

The morning sun
The clear blue sea
The smile on your face
Which is more beautiful?
You grab your camera to take photos
I grab my pen to write poems,
Each of us has our preferred method
Of documenting these memories,
But then how could we ever
Forget them?

We used to go on fishing trips during the holidays,
She never really liked fishing
But she was willing to tag along just for me.
She'd lie on the deck in her bikini, tanning
While I would fish.

We used to shower together every Sunday evening,
I preferred the water a little hotter than she did
But I was willing to twist the blue **** a little more just for her.
I'd stay in the shower a bit longer after she got out, heat turned up
While she would dress.

Because wherever we found compromise,
We found love.

'The damaged loves the damaged.'
Chuck Palahnuik

I broke her heart once
And the pieces fell to the floor,
Scattered everywhere.

It was a mess,
But I collected every tiny bit
And tried to piece them together, like a puzzle
Carefully sticking the bits together
Wherever they would fit.

With all the bits glued, it looked like a mosaic.
The heart was now back to its original shape
But the cracks were visible
As a painful reminder
Of the past.

What a magnificent ruin it was,
I liked it.
I liked how very tragic it all looked.
Also, I think that's when I fell in love with her.

8 am
I'm half asleep on the bed, she's looking for her *******
On the floor, blue thong
She bends to pick it up and oh
Look at how sweetly those ******* hang.
She puts her hand across her chest
Cupping one breast as if she's protecting it.
Pulling up her jeans now
Zip. Button.
Looks at herself in the mirror
Fixes hair, hurriedly.
Moves closer and examines eyes
Pulls cap off little Visine bottle, then
Drop-
Drop-
Blink blink.
Catches my reflection in the mirror,
Smiles.
But this is morning, we can't look at each other more than two seconds
Without it getting awkward.

She walks over to the bed
Leans over, kisses me, then says
I had a really good time.

My life is like this.

A lot of hits,
Never number one.

It's afternoon in Stonetown and the sun is bright,
We walk through the narrow alleyways
That serve as streets,
You want to stop every time, you want to take photos
Of the old buildings,
Of the old Zanzibari-style doors,
Of the old men
Sitting outside them, cloaked in robes of silk
Selling halwa and coffee... "Let's just go, let's keep on walking," I tell you,
It's hard being a tourist when you're at home
And I'm getting annoyed and restless now
"Don't frown," you pinch my cheek playfully,
But that only makes me do it more
"Seriously, you look ugly when you frown like that," you taunt me,
Then you take a picture of me and laugh.

It's midnight and the sky is neon blue,
The stars electric,
Sitting at the pool
My jeans are rolled up to my knees
And my feet are dangling in the water,
I tell you that I'm not joining you in the pool
But I have no choice, you pull me in by surprise-
Fully clothed.
You just don't know how much you annoy me sometimes.
You untie the lace of your bikini top
And slide it off,
"What happened? Suddenly you don't mind being in the pool," you whisper in my ear,
It's funny how I was asking myself the same thing.

It's a couple days later and you're about to leave,
At the desk by the bed I see you writing something,
It's a note for me you inform me,
I peep over but you quickly cover it with your hands,
Perfume bottle drops, spills all over the paper-
You tell me I can't read it until after you've left
So I read it once you get on the plane.
It was all so sweet,
Both the words and the scent.

They're still fresh in my mind, these memories of you
And of us in Zanzibar,
And I come across them
As they freely float and drift around
In the ether.

I’m twenty years old, I wanna get caked up
You’re twenty years old, but all you want is to get coked up,
Live it how you want it, I won’t judge
And you’re a happy girl
As long as you’re fed, admired, and taken to interesting places
But anyone could do that for you,
I want to know why you’re with me.

It’s a pretty chilled afternoon, cloudless skies
And the sea is so blue
As blue as lapis lazuli,
You’re on the hammock reading War and Peace
I’m learning how to clean a shotgun
My father’s working on the Peugeot
There’s wet air coming in from the sea,
He’s hoping the salt hasn't started rusting the chrome
You’re hoping you’ll finish that book in one lifetime
I’m hoping you can stay here a few more days.

This
This is our life right now
We could all be roped up, *******, and dead tomorrow
But this
This is our life right now.

She's cute
And delicate
And adorable
And sweet
And bubbly,
She has me swooning.
I crackle with joy
At the sight of her,
I hug her so tight
And she squeals
With delight.

It's so weird how the freckles on her face
Remind me of the cinnamon-sprinkled coffee my mother makes
She has freckles on her back too
I don't know if you know this
But that can be very attractive.

She likes literature
And art
And the way I paint pictures
With my words.

In bed she's a bit shy
She blushes a lot
And bites her lower lip,
Gives me expectant looks
Asks me questions sweetly and awkwardly.
It's all so soft and gentle
And achingly tight
When we make love
It's violently beautiful.

scenes from the night.
she gets up to draw in the curtains,
then walks back to the sofa
and falls back into it, floats really, back into soft white cushions.
she undresses slowly, pulls me onto her
her bra is on the floor,
her ******* are firm round pillows with a darkened bud,
tonight i'm all yours, she says,
she surrenders to those last words... i'm all yours.
we make love right there, her astride me,
in the favourite manner of ancient Greek poets.
very early in the morning
i wake up and she is still asleep, wearing my t shirt, wearing my boxers,
she is bound by twisted bed sheets, bound by her long dark hair.
i'm hoping she'll wake up soon, i'm hoping we'll have time,
just once more.
the sweetest smile when she wakes up
thighs and long, smooth legs,
her eyebrow twisted in a parabolic curve
yes, the unarticulated promise of sleek *** in the small hours of the morning.
then the day begins
and light crackles at the bottom of the curtains,
goodbye kisses are the ******* worst.

It’s early night and I am at her place
I am lying on the roof and looking at the stars
And thinking of The Milky Way
And other distant galaxies.
She’s out at a party
Probably dancing with other boys
And cussing me out to her friends
Telling them how much she hates that I am a recluse
And that all I want to do is sit at home.
She’s such a flirt,
She’s smoking hot and she knows it
She leads the boys on, she smiles at them suggestively,
Sometimes grabs them on the ***.
I’ve seen her do it a couple of times.

It’s late night and I am still at her place
I am still lying on the roof and still looking at the stars.
I light a cigarette,
It is my 2nd of the night.
Just then I hear someone walk in,
She's back.
She spots me and hollers out to me
What are you doing up there, crazy? Come down and sit with me, won’t you?
And I watch her as she walks in
Kicking her heels off at the door.

I’m lying in bed with her
She has a big smile on her face
As she tells me
Where she went
Who she danced with
Who tried to kiss her
And what she drank,
But I am not the least bit interested.
She takes her clothes off
And then mine
The *** is good, as always
But it is different.
It is slow
And intimate,
It feels like I am ******* a sad and lonely woman.

She falls asleep
With her head on my chest.
I gently place a pillow below her head,
I walk out of the room
Out of the house
And up on the roof
Again.
I sit on the edge,
My legs dangling,
I light a cigarette and wait.
The only thing is
I don't know what I'm waiting for.

I laughed at the bar.
Teared a bit at the funeral.
I didn't know the person that died.
You played your guitar.
You sang me a song.
You sat cross-legged on my bed
And read all my poems.
You looked at me tenderly.
Lips touched.
Then lips parted.
And we went to a party.
The party ******.
You wanted to go home.
We did.
Then we did everything.
Standing up, lying down.
You blushed in the dark.
And smiled in the morning.
I made you breakfast.
You put the sheets in the wash.
Then we swam the whole day.
In the ocean.
We went home.
You planted flowers.
Said if they grow
I'd remember you by them.
Night fell.
We swam some more.
This time in the pool.
We shared chlorine-flavoured kisses
Beneath silver stars.
We had sushi.
I opened my mouth
And you fed me.
Then teased me.
Something about me being skinny.
I bought a six pack of beer.
You had a sip or two.
I watched the game.
As I did
You just flipped through your iPod.
Aimlessly.
Or counted the ceiling tiles
With vapid eyes.
Because you were bored.
We went for a walk
In the middle of the night.
You tried to ***** me.
Failed terribly.
We laughed.
We smiled.
I took you to the bar.
You met my friends.
We played pool.
You beat me.
Twice.
Whatever.

In the distance I see the early sun jutting through the horizon
Leaving the sky with a cheerful shade of purple.
The sea is still clear blue
And I hear birds chirping
And I see the waves gently breaking on the shore.

The ******* my bed is still asleep, wearing nothing
But a blue loose-fitting t shirt.
The quilt has somehow ended up on the floor
And one of the pillows is about to fall off the edge of the bed.
Her eyes open
"Morning," she says,
And her lips form a graceful curve,
And her thighs keep me thinking things.
Just things.

It's a beautiful, beautiful morning.

Sunday night, feeling kind of dreary,
Soft silence in my room, I hear trees swaying in the wind outside,
2 AM, still up.
Little bit too quiet in this bachelor pad.
Step out the front door,
Look up at the dark black sky, I see Orion's Belt,
And I think I can make out Canis Minor through a cluster of clouds,
Light up a cigarette- about to blow my own clouds.
"Put that away," a familiar voice whispers,
She steps out of the house and hugs me from behind,
"Put that away," her voice is shaky,
Think she's crying, I can feel her tremble
And I know it's not because of the weather.
I turn around
Only to meet with vacant, dilated eyes and an expectant look-
Those brown watery eyes remind me of a place- a place so quiet, so serene,
Yet a place I've never been...

Somewhere out in the world there are people fighting, people starving, people dying, people destroying the land, people even killing each other

But I hold your delicate face, then hug you full of care,
Because all that **** is happening in the real world,
And thank God that right now we're not there.

I loved to eat your *****.
I always did,
But after a while together it started to feel like a chore.
And I've always known that once things like that start to feel that way
The relationship is doomed.
But it was not really a relationship,
At least no more than this here is a poem.

I think that sums up what we had
And what you mean to me.

sleek hours of the morning waking up beside her,
she's lying on her stomach, wearing a see-through nightdress
i can make out the subtle pantylines,
how lovely her *** looks,
the crack
of dawn,
how transparent
my thoughts are.

"do you think about me now the same way you did last night?"
"i don't have all the answers, loverrr."
it's all fun and games to me, it seems.

she wants to be arranged over the balcony,
bending over, gripping the railing.
the ocean is in front of us,
i am holding her tiny waist from behind
and back and forth, back and forth, the slapping sound
of waves crashing
as the tide comes in.
i am making love to this girl, this pretty-as-hell girl
though it is the island that has seduced me.
11th june
6:27 am,
everything that is literature has fallen from me.

breathe.

"i'm out of your league, baby."
"you say that, but i just finished on you."
i kiss her on the forehead, she immediately opens her eyes.
"don't ever do that again."

she says she doesn't care
but whenever she sees me talking to a girl
she walks up and puts an arm around me
then kisses me on the neck- an act of ownership, not affection.

"free those emotions," i tell her
slipping from between her sticky thighs.

We were walking along a road
Hand in hand
Late afternoon
And in the near distance
A skinny brown dog was standing on the curb,
Sniffing the concrete
Tail wagging.
Impetuously, it decided to cross the road
As a speeding car was approaching-
Oh, it was ugly.

She let go of my hand
And buried her face in my shoulder,
Oh, God, no. Did you see it? No, no, no, no, no, no. Oh, God, no.
She wrapped her arms around me tight
And there I was
Listening to her slow, pain-stricken murmurs
And looking at the mangled pieces of flesh and bones,
A pool of blood rapidly building up around them.

What could I do? What would you do?
Because I just stood there, staring
Disbelief in my eyes,
Helplessness
In my palms.

Misreading signals that don't even exist, trust problems, attachment issues,

She's tired of it, she's sick of it, still she's crazy over him,

Tell me, are your eyes still green?

But she won't talk.

She's not trying to hear about my day either, or my type of girl,

She's rolling a joint while I shift gears

I can see her trying to push back tears,

Here's an ear but she won't speak, here's a shoulder but she won't lean,

She feels needy and I can tell, she's vulnerable and I can see,

We're in my room and she wants to ****

But how do I do it without me feeling like I'm taking advantage?

And how does she just give me *** without her feeling like she's one of many?

We laugh.

Nothing's funny

But we laugh anyway.


At night, I replay the scenes of that day in my head

As the hot water from the shower washes away

The familiar smells of ***, cigarettes, and alcohol from my body-

But the guilt, that doesn't wash away.

for Auntie Faith,
God rest her soul.

13-09-2013 Kilimani, Zanzibar*

Your daughters, all four of them
Your beautiful daughters
All dressed the same,
Tears streaming down their cheeks
One by one, grabbing a handful of sand
Emptying it over your grave.

I was woken up at 3:17 am
I was told the news,
I thought of your daughters, all four of them
Now without a mother.

The soul is gone.

You smile and open your legs for me

But I want more than just that,

I don’t only want to be in your sheets

I also want to be in your heart,

Is that too much to ask?