Posts tagged: love
Your body is a temple I hope I’m worthy enough to pray to.
when the poet in me is restless I make beats.
when the producer in me is restless I write poems.
when both are alive I aim to make love
but love is never created or destroyed
only shared, because love is matter.
love matters. love is all I have.
it is all I know. its all I will ever know.
its all I have ever wanted, all I will want.
I speak in music and dance to words.
I write for the rhythm in your heartbeat
and compose for the language of your tongue.
My fingers communicate for your eyes and ears
yet all they really want is to know if we feel the same.
Like the shoelace
the bicycle becomes a memory.
So does the time with the car
and the tire, and the time
you smelled breakfast but mom
was still in bed. Or even if that didn’t happen,
or if he wasn’t yours and was more hers
you remember each time
he sat with you, or talked to you
even if it was about basketball
or your mother, or violence,
or manhood, or standing up for yourself.
Whatever it was, you remember that,
regardless if his name was brother,
uncle, grandpa, friend, that one guy
or father. You remember each memory
that you one day want to be remembered by.
You are beautiful
not for what I or anyone
else sees but for what
and who you are.
My love for you insults my ego.
These feelings for you are humbling.
In class I had to teach a lecture
on the burning of old Montreal.
It became a speech on the first time
I knew how to properly love you.
I know I’m supposed to have written a few verses for you.
Instead I want my obituary to read only your name repeatedly.
This is the only language I know how to pray in. Once I’m gone
I want it understood, I wasn’t living before you came into my life.
When you smile I see reverse oil spills stretch across your face.
You gorgeous pollutant you, redefining every concept of beauty.
I’ve seen what kind of ugly the world puts on women like yourself.
Some would say the only compliment fitting for you is disaster.
When not given her freedom, Canadian slave Marie Joseph Angelique
burned down forty six buildings in less than three hours. When wounded
a woman needs no savior. This I know, I was an ember, an infant, watching
in awe at the magnificence of her creation. Wearing this same look
draped across my face whenever I’m with you. Seeing, listening, speaking to you.
How to love a phoenix? Easy. Become the flame.
I long to be nothing more than your match,
the liberation of your happiness.
Don’t you see the candles I lit for you?
Some call it home, saying you can see it from space,
saying that the city never stops burning.
I’ve learned to love my own demons
enough to be guardian angels for you.
My chest swells in your presence.
I have grown so large now, a wildfire
fueled by the experience of you.
How time seems to stop.
How gravity resists mattering.
How there are no more physics.
How I see your beauty with closed eyes.
How your ideas sound like recreation.
I know the truth so well, how it sounds like a lie.
I understand why you may be careful believing me
when I say I love you. It’s hard for me to believe you exist.
Dreams normally come true, they don’t usually become people.