Your Love is My Drug

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Does your heartbeat ever stutter to a st…stop,

when confronted with beauty too transcendent to taste?

Girl you give me diabetus with your fine self, self so fine

like spun sugar, spinning ballerina dancing through the stars.

You are the sweet that makes my tooth ache, the bitter

that makes my coffee wake my sunny heart into a rainstorm.

You are a summer storm, all sunny and rumbling depth

and sudden deluges drain oceans and drown forests fires.

Chocolate is named after the taste your lips forming hello

and sadness in the name they gave to your goodbye.

Don’t let the emptiness fool you, you are much more than a black

hole though you suck me into your presence, you are a black, whole

as in you complete me, complement me and make me king.

We are not drawn to regret but painted to be free like a canvas

still dripping feathers swaying in the breeze of an open window.

Don’t forget the sound of tomorrow but sink in the luxury

of each breath broken only by the promise of the unspoken.

You are a siren singing lost songs that gave up your voice

to climb ashore and rise with me to the skies beyond the horizon.

Sea waves foaming green and gray sprays of distilled beauty

shatter like so much glass against the insurmountable depth

of your worth. Thou art worthy or was it worthy art thou?

Or was it art thou worthy? Or thou. Art. Worthy? Art?

As in you are art, the expression of imagination across the page

stretched languid like a french model across the space of my mind,

leaving me unsettled and thirsty, craving for more

a drug addicted artist craving for completion, come for me and take me

places that I never could begin to forget never having seen.

Explode me and expose to like a meteor shattering the night sky,

cause baby you’re a firework, come and let your colors burst.

But be careful because my heart beats arrhythmic when I am near you,

like a drunken tap dancer and I am liable to stutter, I mean trip,

I mean fall, thundering like Niagara, deeply in love with you.

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A Childhood of Sorts

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I lay in bed and listen to my innocent self step into the night,

the low moan of the crickets and the cacophony of silence that follow oppressive.

I can taste the fear in my mouth as I glared at the darkness making monsters of my playthings,

the stunted tree I loved to fall from now a unfathomable evil.

My yammering heart beats the ngoma of my people and in that moment I am one with my ancestors.

They too stood fearful against the encroaching darkness and feared the falling skies.

I was a child then, still cradled in the bosom of my black mother, ignorant of her lush mysteries

Now I lay in bed having lost my tongue and my purpose, sick of the fear that fills my adopted mother

Sick of her oil spill fingers spilling hatred across my innocent black skin, staining it darker than coal

falling like snow on the eve of a hijacked holiday for those who never braved the fiery sun

But even now, innocence long forgotten like my childhood fantasies of building a house where we could be safe

even now the fear lingers like a sore taste in my mouth.

I am not afraid of the dark, like my ancestors I dance to the ngoma beat of my heart against the night

but there are some that cannot hear the music and that is what I fear.

I fear those who hate the darkness and the lush mysteries hidden within and I fear that I

innocent no longer am much to close to black for the ones who are afraid to forgive

So I lay in bed and dream of long forgotten moment stolen from the past when I was a boy

and the worst fear I could imagine was a shadowy tree cloaked in shadows turning into a monster.