I need to find a way of celebrating every breath.
The train of day will leave my bedroom soon.
I will board, and, walking up the aisle
Watch fields and starlings fly.  
And will forget my breath.

Not so. No more could I forget my breath
Than I could you. Comingled
With the depths of self
Of life wellsprings and watery cells.
The grace and faith of the synapse
Being, binding blind in blood,
Test at any level
Oh would I could prove positive for you.

And so like Gods of battlefields remembering soldiers prayers
When they in cannon's mouth are blank with fear.
Do I not forget.
Do I not forget..

Fine wine woman
Caressing the crescents
Of her hips
With love
Longs for exotic youth
Oblivious to the rain
Yet compliments
Her roses and sweet poses
With the stars
and
loves champagne

Reynaldo Casison

Her skin is wrapped in Henna,
Beautiful brown ink,
Sketches cover her thighs.

Little golden vines wrap around her fingers,
Intertwined with the bare white of mine,
She's a work of art, such a beautiful painting,
I trace each line of the brush.

Once you drew me naked,
And I did not recognize the man,
A stranger in my skin,
I couldn’t trace where I began.

Preacher please,
Would you open your doors for me?
I have sinned yes,
But is sin is common in my profession's play.
The night is awfully cold,
If only you'd give me a moment,
To warm my hands by the hearth.
Certainly one of God's high and mighty,
Would let a poor man thaw his fingers.
I miss their mobility,
I can barely hold my own hands,
Much less a pen.