Tender

You and I, We are tender. For where there was once a smile, a nod, a smirk, comes hesitation… A silent pause before you talk. A rushed conversation. So, I keep these thoughts to myself, Laugh at a misunderstanding, Yearn for redemption…no, I do not like you that way, not in that way. You and … More Tender

Drip

My love is like a leaking faucet, drip drip drip…a bit here, and there…so why should you turn off the faucet? My love is like that drop…the one that seeps through even after you’ve fastened the faucet and walked away.

Smitten

Kinky Friedman, a songwriter, once said “Find what you love and let it kill you,” but the world attributed it not to him but to Charles Bukwoski and ever since then…generations have come to believe those nine words as gold from Bukwoski. You say I come undone when the world sleeps, You do not believe what … More Smitten

Forgiven: Nuru

Our people say that you should not curse the land you walk upon. They are right. They are wrong. They have no say on where you step on, but I heard about her. For every time I blink, I imagine what she would look like, her laughter, her touch, her hair…her teeth, her footsteps. When … More Forgiven: Nuru

Confessions

“What would you do if I die? I wonder…like would you tell everyone you and I were close? What would you say if they asked ‘how close?’…I hate this…” I look at everything in the room but you. You have been here for two days, red watery eyes, blocked nose, a pounding headache, a certain … More Confessions

Shards of Glass

We love Thursdays. You and I. It’s the one day we can say brings out the truth in us. I love Mondays but even saying this in your presence is exorcism. “I know everything about you,” you say. I tilt my head so I can take in your demeanor. My Mother says that you can … More Shards of Glass

Call Me Sunday

Call Me Sunday when you come undone. You are the sweet taste of a lazy morning, a yearning for that service, communion of sorts…I squeeze you in words, wring you in thoughts, and pound you in feelings. I am not the pestle but rather the mortar that creates room for pounding. Happy is a state, … More Call Me Sunday