our little secret
My love
everyone wants to know
our little secret
can’t they see
you live in my poetry
For every beautiful word
every little inflection
is an alluring reflection
of you
For I never seek inspiration
in the birds or bees
or classic Greek tragedies
This poet writes
by inclination
Don’t tell anyone
of this little revelation
there’s no denying that it’s true
our little secret
My heart beats metaphors
just for you
I would like to dedicate this to my muse, if I had one, but I don’t. So, I won’t. (Wink Wink)
bubbles of love
Soaking in an effervescent tub
of your warm poetry
tiny inspirations
burst all around me
Sparkling suds of passion
cleanse my soul
of the unsightly stains
of dirty lovers
and tainted memories
For you are the nymphet
of my passions
a sensual siren of sonnets
The warm bath
that never goes cold
Now I find myself
submerged in your verses
blissfully drowning
in the fountain
of your never ending
bubbles of love
denial
When I vow I will stop thinking of her
it’s because I can’t stop
When I say she is forgotten
the truth is, she is not
Look at me denying I am in denial
and I don’t know where to start
Perhaps I can deceive my friends
but I will never fool my heart
My brain continues to remember
what my heart refuses to forget
so I’ll continue to pretend
I’m not haunted
by the girl I haven’t met
massage of poetry
The gentle scaffolding of her verses
Construct the sweetest inspirations
As goosebumps blossomed over me
Her words rubbed my hard muscles
Like an inspiring key that unlocked
Every hidden secret of my anatomy
Soft syllables stroked sweet sensations
Sending me to the point of no return
as her metaphors caressed me to ecstasy
My muse is a masseuse of touching balladry
For no man could ever resist her charms
After her sensual massage of poetry
.
.
If you let me
I will be the shining light
That peeks over your horizon
To start your day
I will be Michelangelo
When I paint your toe nails
So many pretty hues
If you let me
I will be your loving muse
A blank canvas that encourages
The brush strokes of your verses
While my fingers caress your hair
As I intoxicate myself
On the scent of your shampoo
If you let me
We will be drunk in love
While I conquer the demons
Of your lovers come and gone
As our dreams walk the same path
For as inevitable as my next breath
I will fall in love with you
.
.
.
“Can love last forever?”
“How dare you ask me after I’ve watched my Aziza die one hundred deaths?”
Painful memories clicked through Amani’s mind like old time flicker films of the silent era, each heartbreaking recollection reopening ancient wounds.
Angelo interrupted, “I didn’t mean to…”
“I’ve watched her die at the hands of barbarians, disease, slave owners, and the Black Death.”
“Please stop.”
“Time can heal the wounded heart, but it can hurt the waiting heart.”
Hands aching from all of the times he’s buried Aziza, Amani sighed.
“Can love last forever? Eternity wouldn’t be enough time to love her.”
.
.
Palace guard Amani is cursed to live forever when he is caught making love to the Pharaoh’s wife. Millenniums later, he befriends Angelo, a cranky Vietnam veteran who searches for his long lost love. Sharing the story of his five thousand year journey searching for his perpetually reincarnating twin flame, Amani the immortal, learns the true meaning of life from his dying friend.
Originally titled “The Pharaoh’s Wife,” my current manuscript (first draft) is the story of two men, an immortal and a dying man, sharing their tales of love and life. I am considering “Eternity,” “Forever,” and “A Time For Us” as titles. Thus, it officially remains unnamed.
This manuscript, my notes. and outline, have been registered and are protected by the U.S. Copyright Office (within the Library of Congress).
This little thing is dedicated to my future girlfriend…..
.
.
Tonight I fantasized about the girl I haven’t met
As my personal muse she’ll be an inspiring poet
Writing the softest verses as silky as her hosiery
She will wear elegant metaphors like fine jewelry
Gondolas transport love poems through her veins
As her sensuous lips taste of sparkling champagne
Beside her bed rests One Hundred Years of Solitude
In her night table hides lingerie that sets the mood
A delicious contradiction of shy, sassy and coquette
She’s the type of woman no real man could ever forget
For somewhere over the horizon she pens loving poetry
Perhaps one day, her words of love will be meant for me
.
