I have wanted to kiss him
since the day I saw his
ebony kingdom step upon
my mansion.  His starry
eyes reminding me of
last night’s moonlight
shining high in the horizon,
the sound of the radio
against my windowpane
as I inhaled Mary J. Blige’s
song, I Never Wanna
Live Without You, pure
R&B soul sifting in the
rain, my eyes traveling
in the night, arriving at
flashing stoplights where
his handsome scenery
shines in the streets.
He is someone I love,
a real man of rapturous
dreams, underground gleam,
sparking walls I could lean
upon and reminisce about
all the days of his life –
the morning light shining
outside his glass window
upon his sleeping beauty,
melanin skin glowing bright,
beautiful lips like a sea of mazes,
a place glowing inside my mind.
How could I approach him
and confess my feelings,
to let him know that I have
fallen for his hypnotic streams
of swirling beams, the shimmering
mountains inside his dynasty,
the soothing rhythms ripening
at the root, reverberating beyond
jubilant Jupiter and notorious Neptune.
How could I make him love me
when his crowned-crystal invention
was far from flowery flights,
far from wanting to dive
into the unknown and touch
the tunnels of passionate poetry,
inhale feminine fascinations
and rosy sensations.  He was
a benevolent volume of magnificent
bridges, a world I wanted to take
inside my home and show him
the escape that he’d never known.