Sitting in a grove, meditating under shade. Take a deep breath and watch your worries float away. Millions of sunrises grace the eye as vibrant waves flutter to and fro- Fanciful palettes of red, orange, and gold. Beautiful harbingers of joy that rain down from above; cosmic seeds blissfully brimming out sheer love. Feel the life force coursing underneath your thighs while this connection being forged helps you soar and reach the sky. All along, we’ve been fruits of the same tree. We’ve always known each other; what’s inside of you is but another part of me.
If it were up to me you see, I would've been holding your hands from the beginning. If it were up to me, pens would feel comfortable between your fingers, poetry would feel natural flowing from your lips If it were up to me it would feel less of sandpaper and concrete Instead, more of silk and lollipops to your tongue in the middle of summer If it were up to me you wouldn't hate summer, you would adore it If it were up to me you'd look forward to fresh strawberries and mangoes, the wind hot on your face like my breath would be to your chest Curled up in your arms listening to your heart beat, waiting for you to stop wishing for it to stop If it were up to me I would lay by your side each night, holding you close, patiently waiting for you to slip into slumber before letting myself do the same If it were up to me I'd keep you from anything harmful If it were up to me the sun in the morning would signify survival, not failure If it were up to me the sunset would paint the sky with reds and oranges and purples every night to give you a reason to keep going If it were up to me you'd look in the mirror and see the stars in your eyes rather than storms If it were up to me your cheeks would be stained with loving pink kisses from the sun rather than tears made of salt and self loathing If it were up to me you would've held my hands and felt content from the start, rather than grasping onto them hoping to find something Other Than Summer
I live in strange cities and talk with strangers About things dear to me I walk on alien paths and eat foreign food And remember I paint **** women, their hips large Dark hair and full ******* And I know We all seek perfection, not knowing We are already perfect I sing, my notes rise and fall endlessly Like a tireless swallow in the sky And I praise Hosanna in the highest And as the dust motes dance in the wintry sun In my wooden church, I am transported To singing with Irish nuns My skin browner, in a country of heat and dust A country of mangoes and temples Of saffron and silks And as I don my jeans Memories of my mother’s swishing silks Take me home But I live in strange cities and talk with strangers And home is just another four letter word