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Your beautiful heart has a tiny little hole
Goin’ b’bap-bim-boom boom-bap...b’bap
The mitral-valve-prolapsed leaky little hole
It goes ba-***-bap, bitty-bap, rat-ta tat tat

Instead of the traditional ba-dum, ba-dum
And aside from the fact that I like the beat
There’s another reason, baby, I like you, (yum)
Why I lay myself down at your ivory feet

It’s not because your heart sound like a drum
Or the fact your soul shines bright and true
It’s not just the *** tuh-tum tum tum
...It’s because I have a hole in my heart too

There is beauty in buried love—
tenderly wrenching.
The subtle and soft carry so much more power,
and every touch is a stolen blessing.
No moment is taken for granted;
we are present.
Every look: a confession
to be churned over and over,
while we waltz with desire
never hastily.
We are ravenous for a love so blatantly before us but we don’t dare to indulge.
Mm-bap-bap Mm-bap-bap Mm-bap-bap
So we make beauty with the withstraint and we call it discipline.

The seductress on my mind
Lives in full on expression
Laced in the free confines
And platitudes of direction

The sequential confessions
A private march of signs
Lead aggressive regression
A spinal tap of times

Timid forms of prose
Do not impose, much
In the way of speech
Or the ways of preach

A dandelion blossoms
Fully under direction
Of gunfire and hellfire
Made in mans *****

A milk which is colored
A dark, rusting, crimson
For this is the gift adorned
An antiquated prison

A dream once flowed upon
The rivers that line my arms
Texts of pharaohs charmed
With distant songs sung  

Yet, not distant enough
Into a further realm of
Steak, salmon, wine, and
Pontification, a type sublime

Cardiac and stop and frisk arrests
Psychedelics and prophylactics
Insomniacs and chipper morn birds
Courage and numbing fear tactics

Topics are churned forward
As thoughts are yearned for
But are seldom rewarded
Without snide comments

Even if contorted to fit
Daily textbook definitions
A raindrop is precipitation
Not tears from eyes of perdition

Said a jeering member of an alley
A gatekeeper for all of Hades
A living reminder of what shape
Controls societies minions a plenty

I believe you are a queen lost in time
You are the seductress on my mind
The boom-bap of 90s street art hop
A collection of lives birthed caught

You are the desire of my epicenter
The freezing of my two lips together
A culture of desire and of fortune
A soft room with croons in tunes

I believe you are not pink matter
You are the color scheme in the sun
A serpent slithering within disaster
A tale of victory and woe as one

Tears sting the edges of my eyes
As shadows are cast upon my soul
A tree in mourning for it's seeds
As oil desecrates, dry, shallow soil

When did this become a love poem?
Atop the raft my dreams have flowed
Wordsmiths fashion sturdy homes  
To heal the word and to help growth

Inside one of these I fled and bled
In it I found fish, water, and bread
Self-hate and despair had spread
Until it was fully excreted in death

The seductress on my mind brought:
Dandelions with smoke from gunfire
Milk which was crimson in color
Pharaohs songs of golden charm
A conversation in full, and open arms
Arms that held my dreams with calm

Constructs of love and poetic meals
Heal the surface of darkness scorn
Feeding the soul of it's sullen needs
A return to an innocence unborn