"I Compassion,

dwell not in sympathetic looks,

befuddled about with much sentimentality,

but am the chopping off of one's hand

to offer to

one's brother or sister

who is without



See the moon,
how it glows in the night:
its afro brimming,
outlined by the sun’s light,
and living in a halo?


I want to cry
To burst
into uncontrollable tears
To drown
you with them
To run
and bury my head
To end
this life and start over again.

Dancing with You

Dancing with You is like,
drinking from a fountain--
a cool splash-inside
on the back of a dry throat.

A desert resurrected.

Dancing with You is like,
new life—
a return of breath to empty, decaying flesh-
motion to stillness-
and a return of marrow to once hollow bones.

Decay reversed, and a beat returned to a still-born heart.

Dancing with You is like—
humm…and I am afraid, for I have

Cinnamon & Nutmeg

His heart beats as mine-
us intertwined-
two curved lines in sync in our own time-
fully aligned.
We are the only two, one-of-our-kind
for I am he and he is mine.

His arms return my embrace-
his chest too.
In the strength of his hold I am fully encased.
Cleft in the rock and cradled by his breathe,
I escape, for the moment, life’s painful race,
hanging my tired soul, wet like linen whites, on the nails of his embrace.
His backbone sways to envelope my weight,
drinking me in, digesting me fully--I am not his mistake.

He returns my gaze with an emboldened stare,
his smile meets mine erupting there a delectable-little-flare.
Caressing his likeness within my cheeks,
he brands me with a simple kiss; we are what the other seeks.
Ever absorbent of the sounds I make,
knowing what I say before words take shape
yet remaining patiently still, listening, till my air breaks
and out pours my insides-- He waits,
knowing when to give and when to simply take
(he penetrates without coming into my space).

A forest above me, is he
absorbing the beatings of the sun.
His left hand firmly fans within the lumber of my spine
around him I wind, and hold on for dear life.
His shoulders are two mountain ranges lovingly erected on either side of me.
Where do I lay my head to rest? On his chest…
where I nurse on the milk of his