flatten your tongue
slip it between your teeth

n.

your little lips
forming an elipsis

o.

put them together
and may you declare
a word you’d so carefully deny—
no.

you spell it out
on table tops
shout it
from the rooftops

and when cursed hands
seek to defile your shrine
may you exclaim
"i am mine"

crimson flutters down in
beads in rhythmic hymns
tangling themselves like slipknots
or messy hair on Sunday afternoons
when sunlight floods living rooms and porches and drips off shingles

it continues down a pale forearm
in patterns
neat straight lines like lines on asphalt;
uncrossable.

when the hymns cease -
silent psalms begin and bathe in cold streams.
streams turn to lakes,
still, and warm as death.

It's like a round-about, around and 'round.
Everything that goes up must come crashing down.
It should be easy like a certain fate.
I've never even asked you out on a date, cause...

You won't want me when you're sober.
I don't want you when your getting high.
All in all I guess we're out of luck.
I guess the two of us will never...

Well okay,
I see you over there,
And I wonder what's that scent you wear.
I see,
There's a glimmer in your smile for me.
But our harlequin romance ain't ever gonna be,
Cause...

You won't want me when you're sober.
I don't want you when your getting high.
All in all I guess we're out of luck.
I guess the two of us will never...

Ah, ah, ah, ah,
La, la, la...
For better or worse,
We're differently cursed.

What they're saying is probably true.
I could never be what's good for you.
Of all the lives on Earth you come into mine,
And struck by something sort of love
I'm going blind, but...

You won't want me when you're sober.
I don't want you when your getting high.
All in all I guess we're out of luck.
I guess the two of us will never...

Never gonna be in touch with each other
In the way that a lover touches another,
Never gonna know it, we won't say it,
We won't show it, cause...

You won't want me when you're sober.
I don't want you when your getting high.
All in all I guess we're out of luck.
I guess the two of us will never...

Where dreams are gold of thought
Where cloud are silvers of hope
Where future husband the street
Where ghost don't crack bones of human.
This colour of African night depict water
A formless form of laughter tickling home
If this history be made of Kinta Kunte,
I will lit this weekend with a strange tune
Which will end up holding the image of forever.


May we meet again where **** are debris
of footsteps on the oceans of mysteries.
We might giggle with a different tale on
We may pitch our voices to the cold hands
of daring heart of  thunderous elipsis...
We may trace home giants of illusions
We may not see the darkness in eve hush
noise, not through this armpit zipper of
services rendered in a torn lips of lost humanity.

May we meet again where we make muse
a knight with a name & face & identity
We'll send forth our song to many places
where our mind have raced without a print
May we meet again where love crossed path
and time lose concentrations in the camp of
attraction of what we have finally become
May we might again as a pilgrims in prayer,
Our hands a home bringing  tomorrow' peace.


May we meet  again and embrace wetness
Wetness of love and hope for another' emotion
At the sight of the emptiness in the hallway,
We will stand to erase every ooze of doubt
Hold on between us death and life to conquer
this deafening silence may echo beyond shrunk
Nights of our skins before the sun unmask
May we meet again and again and again
Where we part no more  with legs of departure.


©John Chizoba Vincent
FromAPenRefusingfrustrations.

Been grieving over
an unfinished story
only to realize
how I had been wasting time
waiting for an ending
that has already been there

hanging on elipsis.