Anyone who knew her last name knew the fire she set in the heart of the expresser. I called her Bri, girl wonder, the original poetic queen by her own words. She called me her poetic god when I was first getting off of my feet in expressive poetry.
I took it slow, like a freeze-frame of which I’m not too proud of. If I may, I’d like to sort of explain what was happening in my position.  A beautiful day, cirrus clouds, December Alabamian weather. I was leaving, never to return or try my hand at our love again and all I wanted to do was show love to the one who’d declared she would desire it from me.
Insane.
Insane for thinking that a request of which as simple as it is can rearrange the very fabric of time would be accepted into the universe and granted to me as a blessing and a step forward in lively progress. My last wish was a simple kiss.
But it wasn’t meant to be.
Why? Why something so harmless as a that would put so many barriers before itself in an effort to avoid it is beyond me, but what I do know is that it haunts me to know that I missed my opportunity and let out an emotion of neglection, and I hope she didn’t create a feel of aggravated rejection In her heart, for that wasn’t my intention.
She, my dancing queen, right? Shier than the sun at two A.M, too self-conscious about the smallest detail yet still flawless, true poet by accident yet a poet all the same.
This woman’s worth, like Maxwell. The worst like Jhene Aiko. But my ribbon in the sky like Stevie Wonder, basically a symphony of emotion that I played a part in. I, a master of ceremonies in her play of life as she expressed herself and wrapped me in layer upon layer of unknowing intimacy.
Why? Why do I always fall for your type?
Why did I fall for you?
I can’t explain without uprising the controversy in my heart, the controversy growing in my soul,
Love.
What I believe we were trying to achieve before the divide, the main reason I sit on the couch listening to love songs and counting my losses as they compare to my blessings and curse the time that brings turns in events, buildings to the ground, men to their knees in submission to the will of it.
Love
What I would’ve said if I’d had time to show more of it. You are the ocean to my sea creature, the grasslands to my herbivore, the nature to my nature, a perfect fit through connection.
Thick lips, wide hips, dark chocolate skin with a clueless soul, I was the gateway in progress, the channel for the guided ship. You made me find myself better, closer, more accurately, and I will never forget you for it.
Not everyone is meant to keep in contact, but our souls are entwined within a universe all their own, a dance floor to you, a laptop and forum for me, completely customizable, and a warm embrace where our worlds collide and create the aftermath, the afterlife, of which all shall witness the greatness of such a creation.
The abdication of a king, the separation of a natural pair, the things that we must live through, so if you remember me, When you remember me, think of the possibilities, the unknown realm that we never explored.
Brianna
The heat of the fire I kindled in my heart, the girl who left the mark of possibility and opened my mind.
My first queen, my billionth girlfriend, but first pending love. I gave her her credits and accolades once more.

Classic fairytale love is what it was to us. You being the spoiled rich ******* the block and me the poor, lonely expresser who stole your heart as if I could live off the mere heat of it.
We were fated, middle school crushes, High school sweethearts, college lovers. Our closeness judged by the length of time we spent together, and as college kids, our making love was sweeter than honeysuckles, more spiceful than Spanish rice. We had a poetic passion unlike any the world had ever seen
But your love for me wore off fast, you’d acquired a taste for un-sampled  cuisine. That would’ve been fine had I not found out on my own. I found out about them, one or two would’ve been bad, but Six?!?! Do I bore you? Don’t try to wiggle your way out of this, it only hurts me more.
Your voice gets tighter as you ridicule me for my actions, but I can’t hear you anymore. I don’t know you, I fell in love with a love and a lover, not this whorish display in front of me. You yell louder, climaxing my urges, I send a jolting hand fast across your cheek. I already feel the guilt and regret, tears spilling from my eyes, I get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness.
You forgave me.
And somehow we ended up making love that night, only, it was no longer love. My regret fueled me, but I didn’t want to touch you anymore knowing how many hands do so in my absence. Now I thought we should go our separate ways.
We stop speaking but remain on friendly terms as you continue your cheating barrage on  your new lovers. I still have feelings for you, but the betrayal has me cornered in a pit of emotion that’s  steady pulling me down, down, down into an aggressive element.
But we are still friends, right? So I’d like you to come to a show that I’m making, I intend for it to be a wild ride. You watch the crumbling masquerade with painful eyes, the other audience members leave in shock at the agony of the destructed art. The show was a disaster that destroyed any chance at a career I had. You consoled me, filling my head with sweet words and fantasized hopes, keying in my engram of you.
We ended up in bed once more, bare bodies spent as we fell asleep. All it took was a moment of weakness.  I leave you momentarily to doze as until you fall asleep, crazy thoughts run through my head as I stare at my **** body in the bathroom mirror, a body that had been reserved for you. I tried hard to suppress the urges again, thinking of the good times we had and the wonderful love we made, but it wasn’t helping, It was only making my shy, sweet mind turn vicious.
No, don’t make me do this! Screaming in my head as a homicidal idea takes over my conscious mind. She had nothing to honestly do with this! But my rationality ebbs as my snapped heart seeks its retaliation. My world begins to disappear around me as the urge takes over. I am sensually invisible: no hearing, no sight, no feeling.
But the sensation seems to last only seconds before my senses snap back on and I discover what was to be…
What have I done !? Two slits where your cherry-wood brown eyes used to be and the guilty utensil in my hand, a knife, colored crimson all the way to the handle. I panicked in my guilt and got on my knees. No repentence for what I had done, too late and too heavy a burden to apologize.
But there was one way I could make my wrong a right, I could second the wrong. I could join you on the other side and remake what we had. The idea only flashes in my grieving brain, but it’s enough to make me settle on it. I put both hands on the handle, thrusting it heavily into my belly and commit my own honorable seppuku.
Passion killing is what they called it when the authorities arrived. Two long time lovers, dead before the dawn, I was influenced deeply by my mind, and my heart was betrayed by it. But now I guess we both know the extent of a betrayed Poetic Passion.

The words that spill out of my mouth,
"I am a poet"
are met with skepticism.

"Really?"
comes the reply.
"then write something right now."

"Give me a topic."

"Rivers."

My mind struggles for words,
for rhythm,
for rhyme,
I am forced to say words
that I have already said,
that I have already known.
When I finished,
they applaud me,
they are impressed.
But in the back of my mind,
all I feel is guilt.
I claimed to be a poet,
a champion of words,
an expresser of feelings,
and yet failed to meet a challenge.
It doesn't matter if they know,
because I know.
But,
my resolution is now clear.

**Poems are my solace,
and I cannot be forced to grieve.