I wish I could draw hands
There's something remarkable about yours
When you are holding your camera
Or your coffee cup
Or when you lean
against the kitchen door frame
In dawn light
One handed grasp on the pullup bar
And the flow of your forearms
And the way your sleep heavy eyes
Reach mine

I look at you like a painting
I love but can never afford to touch
Walking to the gallery every day
Trying to memorize
The way the light bends around it
Wondering if i can talk the artist
Into giving it to a loving home
For the 50 bucks in my pocket.
I dont have much
...
But this broken mind
And that youve filled it.
Yesterday,
I bartended in the summer rain
And could only remember
that you said
You love to dance.
Nobody
Not even the rain
Compares to you

We are not a first world country. They are not a third world country. We are all part of the same world. I am not part of a white race. He is not part of a black race. We are all one race in our human family.

I've owned up
To my Unfading Scars
The ones that didn't forget
Your touch.

a soft voice that can
sanitize a mind, and
that mirrors skin like linen,
hair flowing faster than
blood to her heart,
looking in her eyes
proves that cerulean skies
can walk on earth,
anxiety blurs the lines
of a perfectionist,
leaving reservations
in the minds of anyone
lucky enough to
grace tangibility and
her footsteps cohere,
with lips rarely touched
a godless man can feel them
in his fingertips when praying
to a god he doesn’t believe in.
      
                                       MJB

I do not post my writings on here for likes. and attention.
Nor is it for shares or follows.
I am not seeking the crowds who applause.
Cheering and ranting for more.
I do it to simply find and intertwine with my soul tribe.



-Jennifer DeAngelo
Copyrighted 2016