woman.
house of fire and hope
and light.
woman.
canvas where loveliness and
fierceness blend.
woman.
ocean of flowers and life.
garden where all things wonderful grow.
woman.
you.

where night is black opals
before the storm.

out of the flames,
pheonix bright,
our love,
reawoken,
tender and ageless,
*****-faced like
a jaguar of the night,
purple, blue and yellow
the bloodless fire,
and somewhere in
the hurt and the pain
the ghosts like an
old sinatra song
sing their melodies
in the sad summer hours.
i don't think i'll
ever feel so bruised
or so dark, our love
out of those blue-ghost
flames.

my soul
has turned into a house
with leaks in its roof
my words are the raindrops
that fall through
and i
i am trying to catch them all.

in a tea house
a jasmine girl
plays a piano
shimmering a
song of soft keys
to a lotus blush
of fine infusing leaves.

morning, the jewels
of dawn’s filigree nets
a summer storm
in a wintry sky
coaxed out of
a melody of
incense, trembling
to the infinite
blossom of
tranquil, arching
skies.

your poetry, the
cadences of the sun
unwrapped,
the light of the
ocean
breathed
in,
beautiful moons
that weep for
life’s joys,
wild summer
in our hearts.

feeling alive feels like
yellow flowers growing in my bones
and blooming on my skin
it feels like the sun rises
not in the east
but from within me

on my right leg,
under my knee
lives a cinnamon colored stain
that looks a bit like africa
the same way i look a bit like africa
in the shape of my nose
and the waves of my curls
waves like the water that carried my
ancestors in boats
all the way to this island
of salt and sugarcane

where the river runs
is a ghost
blue as the sky

i want the beauty
of my mind
to run through
my pen

i want the sky
to cast its shadows
of the shadowy clouds
to where
darkness flows
and the moon,
the arching moon,
grows cold,

love could not be
more beautiful
when i am,
flower of the wind
sea of dark sky
ghost of a river
that runs.