My poetic mind wants to know
Do you feel for me like I feel for you?
My desire for you trickles slowly to my cervical vertebrae
Heart pumps rapidly at the sound of your voice
...
You fell for a voice behind those poetic words
Well, carefully read this again
Stop fantasizing
Start looking
...
A white thick fog arose as I looked out the window
My dark-rimmed eyes cursing the lack of rainbows
Wishing…wishing for one last sweet rendezvous of what used to be
Videos of African rhythms that gripped my spirit
...
The editing of my heart is what you did
Catching errors with critiques, taking notes, ignoring me
You read me well like a manuscript
You knew I was weak from the start
...
He licked his sun-dried lips
Biting his thin nails
Eyes glaring at the whitewashed virgin wall
The wall was speaking to him, wanting him to touch her
...
A soft breeze passes by
With a gentle touch
From his gentle hands
Then he leans down
...
Here Mom
Throw your childhood stories in this wide bowl
Fill it up with your Haitian history
I know Grandma is not here anymore
...
In the beginning there was one word
It accumulated into journals without censorship
Well-preserved, hidden behind vertical blinds of theatrical minds
Unstoppable when it finally justified its presence with vital functions
...
The bitterness of her kiss stung me with such hypocrisy
Affecting my behavior, drugging my senses as I fought this denial in my heart
This kiss was an alcoholic taste without substance
It lingered in my tongue
...
It was exposed to an audience who envied me
To family, friends
I gabbed too much of this love
A marching band of joy and happiness
...