believe me
i’m not dark
actually, I’m quite frothy

like foam that teases your lips
when you take the first sip of coffee

or the bubbles that catch your eye
when a nymph child plays

ivory keys that your fingers caress
as you make music out of me

or the decadent glimmering of a crystal
that creates kaleidoscopes in the sunshine

i’d melt the icing on a cinnamon roll
and lick it off your nose

or say your brows are caterpillars
and giggle myself silly

i’ll tickle your kneecaps
and poke your sides until you collapse

the child coalesced with the woman
the medical student coalesced with the artist.

Beautiful hybrids.

there's nothing poetic about it.

(but i'm sure i'll try anyway)

I need your lips

So I'll catch them by their
Silken wings

Mid flight
Riding the wind
Of your words
And mine

Line by line
Stanza by stanza

i read like a thermostat
i feel cold shrill of eyes
hot blisters of souls

i’ve seen aplenty

fully literate to the hunger
inside denim of men
with twenty tongues

pulling their weight
like untrained dogs

they lick my face to a swell

heating and cooling
my metals expand
silvers contracting

but I can very much tell

who is ready
who is not

some do
some talk

if you'd like
to open me wide like a mouth,
be mean with your smile

to get my thaws down to feet,
**** fire to the wind

with the door
wide open

let
it
all
hang

i’m very keen on intense
i salute a heavy gut
and the confidence of a mutt

an appetite

and if I’m truly your win,
jackhammer
the thermostat
out of the wall

get the wires all bent
and with violence
cement

the
type
of
love
that
knocks
me
dead

completely illiterate
i don’t want to think

the Hello Poetry portrait gallery
is becoming full of empty frames
what individuals had a hand
in these harassment games

we've been deprived of many
talented written contributions
the villainous mob most adroit
with their unwarranted executions

blank boxes tell of an almighty
mischief being awfully made
by they who are wanting
to garner every accolade

under a serious threat our
fraternity of poets are thus far
and of seeing unfilled cubes
there leaves a permanent scar