The Melanin in our Skin
The Plumpness of our Lips
The Honey of our Eyes
The Span of our Hips
The Shine in our Smiles
The Power in our gentle Minds
The Care in our Hands
The Love in our Hearts
Makes Us Queens

I pull your ******* to my chest
And feel your heart beating oh so fast
I cup my hand upon your ***
And mash your mound into my mass
I hold you captive in my grasp
As I spread you legs apart

I savagely kiss your trembling lips
And bite the plumpness I find there
I pull and tug upon your hair
Force in your mouth down with care
BETTER NOT CHOKE or I will glare
As you finish up with sips

I throw you over and grab your hips
And enter you from behind
You are gasping but I surely do not mind
I pound your rim and one more time
And *** once more as you reach behind
To touch my finger tips

I twist you around and grab your knees
And pull you into to me
I raise you up and sting you like a bee
And I put my thorn in so easily
I take my fill for free
And toss your shivering hulk back across the bed like you are nothing now to me

You lay upon the crumpled sheets
You lay used and oh so worn
You hair a sticky mess , that of a baby born
You lip bleeding softly , while I look on with such scorn
You slowly spread your legs like butterfly wings adorned
Saying,"Won't you come back and do it all again ."

your blood shot eyes
so red and round
their juicy plumpness compels me
to eat my baby tomatoes

the pungent smell
of your ***** second-hand smoke
fills me with desire
for some beef jerky

the sickly sight
of your slimy, greasy hair
leave me desperate with longing
for some succulent string cheese
when you scarf down your food
as if the world was ending
i can feel my partially digested turkey sandwich
make its way back up my throat
and spew out
all over your yogurt
ruining it

calculus.


(co-authored)

Thoughts are drenched in raw feeling
I’m daydreaming
My mind ponders, wanders
...I want to fly a kite with you
I want my head on your lap as you sit crossed legged against a tree, reading me poetry
I want you to hold the book with one hand while the other rests on my chest, occasionally stroking my head
Or I take it in mine, fluidly palm to palm till fingers entwine
Thumb stroking thumb, feeling textures on fingertips
The smoothness of your nail against my skin
I want to see reflection in your lambent eyes at sunset and sunrise
Against powerful rays and calm of night  
I want to know what those eyes see  
I want familiarity, of your kiss
How gentleness craves the plumpness of your lips
Where confidence grows, connection is slowed...
I want to fly a kite with you.

Sister
By no relation except
The melanin in our skin
The plumpness of our lips
The cocoa of our eyes
The span of our hips


Sister
Except she didn't recognize me
So when I scolded her she didn't see the love in it
She was defensive
Mistook me for the enemy
Although I was trying to be her shield

It took a while
To separate her sister
From "*****"
A few interventions
For her eyes to open
For her mouth to pause from
words of venom to
listen to me explain
I am her sister by no relation.

The last time we met it was raining
and the stampede of raindrops on the roof
must have made it hard for you to hear.
I had wanted to tell you about my mother
how I wasn’t yet five feet tall
when she was six feet under.
Lover, listen.
Incurable illnesses cannot recognize
the plumpness of an over ripe nectarine
from the plumpness of a woman’s breast.
And the last time we met I don’t think you heard me say
that my name is Amelia
because you kept moaning Sarah.
Now, lover.
I understand the impossibility of moving on
but I’ve run out of excuses to make.
There’s no Lauren or Patrice
just me in these sheets.
Lover, please.
Pick me.

arching my back
the sparks fly
like shaved metal
off of my sternum
as something
like happiness
flecks through
in metal firebuds
that screech coming
over me as a
wave washes
through my
molecular structure,
inside the libations
held up to the
small goddesses
running through
the rush of
the chainsaw shrieks
of bloodstream
now a fomenting river
of tiny waves
cresting made up
of my tears
shed all through
the mineral-encrusted
night
Now those tiny deities
with singing plumpness
of breast and thigh
indigo radiating
from their third eye
are dancing
inside my being
as I strive to catch
the shadows that
only just surrounded
me in that last hour
of plague
of chasm-patched torment
tears insulating me
until I could not see
for the steam
just on the edge
of inability to
contain my
filtered out
pre-injected rage
Here I now sit
a few inches above
the grasslands
lotus in each palm
pumped
with manifestation
in my very fingers
                       of life

stone's throw and the water's current, clouds shifting in the valley of the sky above
screams could be heard near
no,
it was more of a giddy falsetto, shouts that sounded too drunk,
it was an all too familiar sound for james an all too familiar person

"look at my wings! im a fairy! im coming home to the beloved land! wait for me fairy sisters!"

he went to the clear to see if he was hallucinating he wasn't
it really was her;
sophia
nine months since they broke up; that tearful separation

for a minute he just stood there at the far end of the river watching his ex girl friend spread her arms and glide near the banks in the bridge chanting and giggling

god, did he miss her voice and her laugh

she was just like how he remembered her, her timeless free spirited soul still intact as if she took her childhood with her as she grew up, clenched tightly in her fists

the moonlight kissed her milky pale skin, bathing it in a dusty sort of blue.
she was all by herself and he could tell that something was off;
like she was only half there, like her soul vacated her vessel and she was talking to someone not there

she seemed disoriented and james wondered if she was getting bad again,

the worry kicking in as soon as he thought about all those nights,
those times they got high and drank too much and drugged themselves, injecting poison they craved into their veins, letting cigarette ashes fall to their feet, tiptoeing about as if by a marionette's force trailing along the synchronized beating of their hearts
his mind and being time travelling, to the motel room they stayed at that summer bursting with heated afternoons and passionate air, the sheets that smelled of their love making, the wooden floor they sat on as he strummed the strings of his beloved guitar, singing to his muse, the balcony where they laid in each other's arms, in awe of the world around, cicadas chirping
their adventures and misadventures where she pretended to be a superhero and had him as her sidekick the times they pretended to be spies on quest and missions-she introduced and dragged him into her colorful magical realm.
she had dog eared, coffee stained colored books piled in the trunk of her car with words and sentences blacked out, renewed into greater poetry. he could've put a bookmark between pages of one of those books, and they could've dived right into it, staying in a chasm of a sappy, lovesick, sensual poem. they could've gone on a quest of slaying monsters and stopping time for eternity. he couldve stopped them from drowning

they were looking for heaven not knowing that heaven is not a places on earth

all he did was pull down the anchor and let her sink as he kept afloat. sure their connection was real and pure. they comfortably had both of their minds and spirits bare around each other they were two kites flying in a parallel motion but the wind dragged them down hurling them recklessly

they were rarely under substances, almost never under the influence of vices. it filled them up like birthday balloons and their love was the needle that caused them to pop. it had reached the point where they were trapped in a psychedelic haze holding on to each other to stay lucid

the drugs took their toll on them resulting to violence, abusive fights
he loved her so much that he built her a house of bricks and cement to protect her from the big bad wolf not knowing that ****** and ******* turned him into a wolf and he huffed and puffed til he blew her down blew her dead

he felt his heart hit the flat line as her heart stopped for seconds in the ambulance that night he felt everything warp into everything he's ever known everything he's ever had, ever los. he felt the drugs warp into her as if she was the side effect instead of the addiction. the drugs gave them the illusion of being alive while remaining two lifeless, misguided souls.

miraculously they were able to revive her back to life but comatosed with only monitors and tubes sustaining her "life".
that night he dreamt of being with her and holding her hand for the last time as they made a pact, the promise; that they would both get better, get help, get rehab, have blood in their bloodstreams again and have normal functioning lives. they parted with a promise and a someday; that someday they'd meet again when things were right and the stars have aligned maybe, maybe. they kissed and touched in one another's presence before they parted in different directions, for freedom for the better it was a dream within reality. he knew she dreamt it too, that they were stars weaved in the same dream.

he walked closer, to where she was, still seemingly trapped in a trance mindlessly but she alarmingly tethered too close to the water, flailing her arms inviting the wind to knock her down and be part of the river, be the tides the rocks skipped. he had to do something

" sophia!" he screamed, her name echoing past the trees and the trailer houses. it was enough or her to look at him with those eyes, the same eyes that said it all before. recognition fleeted for a second before it went blank but she stopped tethering and perched herself on the bridge

he gave her a lift and took her home to the dorm she was newly staying at for the semester (it was hard to get it out of her from her drunken slurs almost like he had to pull her back from space) and on his drive back with a cigarette perched on his lips he thought about the way he laid her down, passed out and how he stayed for a bit longer, letting his fingers linger across her hair spun from golden silk and the lopsided smile that hung in her face while she slept.

he wondered most of all if she really got better, if the dark was behind her and if she was truly beyond it. he really wanted to believe the pictures that lined the walls,pictures of her smiling, with her friends, her family months after the promise.

she did look better, her skin baring a hint of plumpness and had a healthy glow replacing the sagging hollow that lived in it all those months. after the episode he witnessed (she did reek of ***** and had bloodshot eyes and was shaking not to mention the trance she was in), he didn't know if she was only good at keeping up the "better" facade. but he had his fingers crossed

he was about to let himself out, an ache growling in his stomach as they were to be separated again but he guessed it was the closest they would ever be.

"tell james i love him. always"

his head swiveled back to her and she was still tucked asleep. he could've sworn she said it, he couldn't be hearing things-after being eight months clean of substance usage.

he felt the familiar burn of the cigarette, and he threw it out of the window leaving the remnants of the nicotine inside him. he hated himself for lighting one up and keeping a half pack all this time. this was his first successful relapse and it was all because of her. like a ship tied down to an anchor;he was still tied to her, invisible ropes weighing him back to her ghost



she would always be his downfall

They said, I should pretend that she was sleeping
That dying wasn't so bad
And I should have faith,
Hope,
That she would wake up
To cradle me in her arms again

But she didn't.
The tubes crawling under her skin
Only grew in numbers.

This would be her fight
Struggling by herself
Her foes outnumbering her
Slithering down her throat
Suffocating her,
They make her breathe
Gliding under her soft skin,
They are nourishing her

They are inside of her!

She looks like life has almost left her,
And now, the snakes **** out the last of all that is her
Her warmth
Her softness
Her plumpness
They say it isn’t so
But I am not blind

They say, it might not be too late,
But only Rigor Mortis is late
Nonetheless, he will come
Along with his hooded brother
Just because her limbs are not stiff
Does not mean she hasn’t passed *limbo

All the worst things in life
Start with a:
A-social
A-theist
A-******.
A-bominations to be corrected, but,
And although, in the hands of a body
The blame must go
Tight-gripped and freely clasped
A smile hangs like a necklace.
For, they ask, what grows,
On what shore that glance a thirsting road
Where no artisan of wells
Lets run his craft
Burst with life?
What vines may couple, transect dead veins
Still in a bed of salt
But dead and grey shades of the true?
None,
It would seem, can carry the sweet
Of fertile seeds along the water’s edge
It is but passing as its plumpness
Withers and drops
Apart, epistle, a dogma.
This vampiric little heart takes no form
In Narcissus’ pool it does not
Glisten in the waters calm
Despite the furious mouth
And, gone, lost of all that made it whole.
I go back to the source of the
Grey valley flume
Unknown to impetus,
Cannot find its way in the endless roads
And paths in the sun-baked skin,
The wind may blow salt in my eyes though
The music of its basin fills my ears:
Waves breaking and pressing
On soft earthen lines, scrap-book memories
Faded at the edges like Polaroids
Unfold from the waves of purity
In the sand of an empty shore.
I peer idly into the glimmering stream
No red heart beating,
But a grey heart; one simply searching, pining
For a grey love to begin
And the world that I know
They belong in.

Thursday

week has slo~mo’ed, edged on, visitors gone,
two and half rain days, but a mere coincidence (?),
it’s appearance, their concomitant dis-appearance,
inclemency has kept us closeted and cozily, but not a-lonely,
for the world’s tumult~tilting-plane distracting enough,
its axis! seems more than a few degrees a-kilter,
(lively, lovely word, rarely used), and since when have I awoken with
mine eyes have seen the dripping rhymes, for my germanic-jewish
is pretty prosaic, my musings confined to a middle-of -the-night “thingie,” but here and hear I am jingling away in anticipation of a rain-all-day situation, and frankly, a tad less political west wing,
King Lear worthy drama, polarizing, thee-ate-her, might incentivize an exciting trip to the emerald isle’s solitary gas station and IGA supermarket (weekend supplies for the newest arriving morrow-guest-mongers,) for sure-as-right-as-rain-it-will-be-ceasing,
they will be soon enough be landing by F-Day (3) ferry, on the morrow, with their own Shakespearean screenplay, and many compliments on the verdancy (a previous never employed actor’s verbosity) of our tree encased, oak surrounded, tiny cottage hideaway, where we are all the world’s a stage, and we, the designated locked down, can be all ~ heavenly host, wait staff, sommeliers, and most importantly, their captive audience members…for their small life’s litle newest pieces, require us to be fully updated…

enough folderol! first glance reveals wet everything, windows moisture painted; and a halfway penetrable fog  means incautious
summer drivers will be out mise en vigueur, french for ‘in force’, testing their luck upon our ****, curvaceous, ample bosomed hilllock roads, (stop),  excited by their chance to prove their stupid mettle…and their auto’s european superior brakes & suspension…

so the six am borderline of unofficial time division has passed and it is still Thursday, still wet, fog-ever-so-light touch lifting, and the challenges of writing a good piece of poem, yet sizzling in the mind’s frying pan, is still a long haul walk down the creaky corridor to the
just-kitchen ing ya, and the bed’s seductive dulcets.
singing why not “Stay (just a little bit longer”) (1)…

thus throughly convinced, bury dreams of Javanese Enlightenment within the seducing drowsed plumpness of my pillow
unti they arrive in force, but that is a different story already written…(2)

<>

Stay… ah, just a little bit longer
(Please) please, please, please, please
Tell me that you're going to
… Now your daddy don't mind
And your mommy don't mind
If we have another dance, yeah
Just one more, one more time
… Oh, won't you stay, just a little bit longer
Please let me hear
You say that you will, say you will
… Won't you place your sweet lips to mine
Won't you say you love me all the time
… oh, yeah, just a little bit longer
(Please) please, please, please, please
Tell me you're going to
… Come on, come on, come on (stay), yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Come on, come on, come on (stay), yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Come on, come on, come on (stay), ooh, la-de-da
Come on, come on, come on (stay), my, my, my, my

, and affix me with your radiance
to count all six of my fingers
(including the plumpness of my toes as they grow
on wide-eyed weeping trees) in the land of lakes
where the mountains are smooth like butter.

you see,
baby,
my lifeline connects to the cracks of my eyes
now noticeably deeper
and when i hold you my hands are just points of view.
and when we cant think of anything to say
you
Know
that
the raindrops of heavy expanses
are strained in our exchanges.
so sing to me with your fragmented lips
before the individual peels split into birds
flying away,
with

as i walk past
the almost god of wrinkly
things and his new apprentice,
lying wrapped about each
other, in food filled plumpness, lying sate,
in the morning sun....

i can not but help ponder,
a house cat,
loved through and through, is probably,
one of the highest levels
of reincarnation......

The apple sits
Begging to pulsate.
But the damage of the worm
Strengthens.
It continuously burrows
Burrows
Until nothing but the core of the apple is left.
The round plumpness of the apple
Has been reduced to
Nothing.
It wobbles and shivers.
The core falls over
Helpless.

And one day, they'll all be gone.
Like constellations that slowly stray,
and fade into the ever stretching sky.
Nothing lasts forever,
even the bones,that keep you
from falling apart, will someday
just be matter, turning to dust.
One day, it'll all be different,
your old stomping grounds will be wearing thin,
the plumpness of you cheeks will deteriorate,
and your eyes will sink, hollow with age.
Your old high school friends, gone with the wind.
Their names on the tip of your tongue, yet still,
light years away.
The tides will continue on,
just like they did, that night, all those years ago,
when you had a bit too much alcohol,
and the boy you just met kissed you,
and then danced with you,
the only music being a starry night,
and the hum of the ocean.
You swore you'd never forget those eyes.
Swore the taste of his lips would,
never leave your tongue.
But now, the details have faded into a near nothing,
and you'll have a new life.

A new shell to break out of.

wavy face , wavy hair
raw naked vulnerable
reborn into the world, just coming out of a trip

i fell in love

with dilated pupils and an insatiable desire and unbounded awe

her hands
the childish , plumpness once there
gone , replaced with a maturity and a womanly affect
with nails reflected current inner stability

they fell in love

caressing and holding, her thumbs pressed up to open lips

moon like phases of excitement and apathy ,
alternating between pure experience and
happiness and
pain and
adventure
to recuperation and **** and self reflection and away with
the emotions she cant bear by herself anymore

she falls sometimes
holding on to love ,

giving love ,
waiting for love

every line,
each groove and edge,
fall and sweep to create you,
that arch of your back,
and apple in your throat,
curves that fall at the base of your back,
chiseled edges of thighs,
delicate ankles,
and veins that throb,
carefully created cheeks,
and the bumps of collar bones,
plumpness of lips,
and nobble on knees,
making you perfect for me.

Version 2
My moonlight eyes
Might have been part of heavenly things.
My fingers
Are angelic in form.
My legs
Slender,attractive and obviously the ones that attracted him more to me.
I am beautiful.

I am not too tall,
But my plumpness kind of fits my height
Perfectly.
Yet,
I am sure he was concerned more
By the backside than the wonderful bump
My chest makes against his.

Why me?
But why not?

I am the beauty of his eyes,
The satisfaction of all his lustful desires.
So isn't one less beautiful than me more fortunate?
For no big bellied man in his richness
Can dare approach a woman he is less satisfied with.

I see it all in his eyes.
My silky skin,
My adorable smile,
And the totally kissable  lips are all he ever thinks of.

But if I am too beautiful to attract a man my own father's father's age,
Then beauty is a curse.

Tanya had not seen
the thing from that
angle, she’d only seen

it from her own narrow
gauge of looking, and
of course there was

the blindness, caused
by hate, and he had
after all gone off with

that skinny ****, and
after all the effort she’d
taken to loose weight,

and oh yes, he had gone
and taken her favourite
dress the red one she’d

out grown, and the one
she’d once much favoured,
although she’d only worn

it the once, and now that
thin bean of a girl had it
on, oh how could he, she

spat out, while lounging
in the bath, the water
almost to the rim, and she

there looking at her pink
plumpness, and how her
**** could almost swim, oh

come back, do not leave me
here, she moaned although
there was none to hear her,

except the guy in the flat next
door, but he was kind of queer,
oh where is love when you need

it? and where is some god to protect?
Oh, she said, all my plans are wrecked.

i feels it the
keenly reeling
offall to

                LEAP


completely mortalness
(and kiss by dashing

           w
         i
            n
         gs

the juice'd plumpness
day's killing
           )
                       fleet,

                          '

                                   ;


                            



                           .

Lying back to back on a plate
an orange
and a banana
each dream
its own dream

Cézanne comes over
gives the banana
a half turn
Its graceful inner curve now
embraces the orange’s plumpness

Instantly the air softens
the color fluid
and rich

Have you ever stared at someone for a long moment that you actually catch yourself being hypnotized by their absolute impeccable beauty? They posses curvy lips with a soft plumpness texture to them. The way their perfect, oval shaped and squared eyes stare at you with a dark brown pupil gazing right into your abyss soul. Everything about them just makes you warm on the inside only to find out you are perspiring a bit.
  You admire this person's physical beauty extensively, that from this clamant moment you know you have to act up and analyze their way of talking, the movement of their lips and eyes, the sway mobility of their body as they take their every step, and finally they position of their head when they are having a conversation with you. An obsession with this person's body starts taking over you and makes you catch any quirky body gesture that they do not realize on their own. Once you finish examining their eyes and lips you move on to their untarnished oval and slender face. Along with their semi-white teeth when they smile.
  This individual does not appreciate their own beauty to themselves, but others can see it and be mesmerized by it. Wishing to just bury your lips to theirs in a rather violent manner, wanting to just stare at their eyes in a steady position without them thinking you are odd for doing so, and praying for them to let you caress their soft and light skin with your sinful and promiscuous hands. After all of that, you find yourself un-hypnotized only to find out that you can never ever do these things to this beautiful creature. Not because they are not compatible with you. Not because their personality isn't wondrous. But because they are distant.  Knowing you have to see and interact with this person four days out of the week, you find yourself staring at this person from a long distance when they are not looking. And peek a crocket smile as you look down at the floor when they turn around.
  Too distant from you and too oblivious to notice that you've turn all of their flaws into an absolute immaculate piece of art that should be hanged on a hallow pure wall while it is worshipped by many.
  For this reason I shall wake up from my false dream and walk out of the door with all of my feelings, desires, and hopes thrown into a bin called the American dream.

Woman In The Mirror

Woman in the mirror stares back,
at  pained confusion of a
distraught soul,
transfixed as if in a trance

what years and aging effected.

Thy plumpness and roundness
receded,
leaving behind a withered frame
for a body

mourning prized possessions envy
of all who once admired.

Woman in the mirror you couldn't
be so wrong,
beauty does fade,the person
within stays the same,

don't pity me,oh my oh my my...

This body is a celebration of life
of a young girl who played in the
backyard,making mud-pies,
caking her face with dirt,
giggling and laughing no dreams yet

and when she became a woman
she had so much ambition and passion
noone could stop her even if they tried

Such delightfulness, an opportunity to
create life in one's womb
to hear the first cry of a babe
having its mouth suckle at one's breast
while their small eyes look back at you
for assurance you will always be there
woman in the mirror,every wrinkled line
bears testimony
of beauty that lies within,

not even the hands of time can erase.