Letting off your despair,
looking ever so lovely today.
Let me run errands with my fingers
throughout your entire hair.

Those afro and curls,
how can I make you my girl?

What I see is what I get.
And once I have it, I won't regret.

Let go, and let go of your hair.

Seems wild to others, but tame in my eyes.
Running thoughts running in your hair,
telling me what's on your mind.

Going round and round with words,
tying knots to an issue with your curls.
Always to get on your nerves,
for speaking in vein of how I'm in love with your Afro & Curls.

I could spend hours counting the freckles on your face

if that meant I could spend hours close enough to you to see them

so everyone
is an idiot and so
am i i love us

listen to them wingmongers
circling round
squawking about how
there be tiny cities on the ground
moss barble asphalt
laid down
betwixt twig-mud megatowers
architecture of invisible sound
leaves decomposing, ants scurrying
spider weaving her web,
connecting flowers like power
lines buzzing beetles hurrying
all the way down the naturebound
highway,
off-ramps to the nine burrows
past the dead squirrel,
through the downpour
of fungal spores more
self-sustainable than any city of yours,
screech the wingmongers,
and from dirt level
i understand their song
these tiny cities will be
long past
when our civilization's long gone

The open door
Allowed the light in
To split apart the darkness
Drawing a path
Across your chest
You started to shift, rumble
Off the bed, and I captured you
By the hand, whispering stay
And the light was jealous
Of your glow-
The natural radiance of your smile
The stunning luminosity of your eyes
Your laughter cascaded
Over the outline of our bodies
I watched as the light
Danced, flickering over our hands
And this is the fluidity
Of love

Bone tired, petal and stem
still crave the light.

The fug has muted us
putting aches where shines were
but the yearning for the thorn and burr
of every normal day persists

My skin is ready to be kissed
with burn and nettled rash again
to give me pause for actual thought

It’s the hollow sounds
Of raindrops falling on the car’s rooftop
In a world that feels static and stopped
That sends chills slithering down my spine
Like the crinkles of tiny bones and stones
In which I find comfort
Nobody could hurt us
We are sitting in a shelter
Safe from cold wet weather
It’s the tiny droplets, slowly sliding down
And regrouping and blurring the lights
Of a distant city twinkling in a rainy night
And my warm breathes create a canvas of fog
For my fingers to draw the tiny catalogue of ideas in my head
The sounds of rain is a like lullaby without any words said
And often when I can’t sleep
I close my eyes and think about me sitting in the backseat
Of my uncle’s car
Going to the hospital or coming from it, that doesn’t matter
It used to happened a lot
And there were many rainy nights, many rainy drives
Where I would see the drenched world brush by
The summer rains were blessing to my ears, skin, and eyes
And I would roll down my windows and stick my head outside
To feel it all at one time
It’s the tears of the sky
Kissing my face
Reminding me the world can be a heavenly place
It’s the music
Created by the windshield wipers,
The muddled sounds of the world, and beat of my heart
And the raindrops falling on the roof of the car

For the last few thousand years, humans have continued to trespass, venture into inhospitable areas, burning down, meddling, or just poking around in natures complex, natural chemical laboratories.

The more humans encroach upon the natural world; the more exposed we are to a highly complex eco system; a system that has evolved over millions of years to support a huge diversity of life in which humans play a tiny part.

As a species we struggle to survive the mosquitoes, not to mention the trillions of other diverse insects, animals, fawner and flora we are now disrupting and introducing to our populations, is it any wonder so many of us are dying.

This disease is a symptom of our consumption and lack of contentment?