wHoLe

i could never have you whole you see

 i had to break you down 

into digestible pieces 

for my palate lacked sophistication

and you paid for this lack

 

(A.k17)

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PaIn

See…

I was birthed from pain

Formed in the very depths of the universe.

i laid within her  

drinking of her,

nursing at her teat. 


See…. 

i sharpened my spirit for the battle that is this Life, 

laying in wait to make it my footstool.

But nothing, 

nothing, 

prepared me for the war that lay within your arms

(A.k17)

The wOmen

The women before me, 

the wives,

ministers,

Shamans,

teachers

the echelons, 

the leaders…

the ones who made a feast of their silence on the daily

bowing at the altar that is their husbands


The ones who pierced the night

beckoning their husbands from the dark,

cleansing their palates from the bitter aftertaste of lust lugged home by their husbands


These women 

they live in me

their silence fires my soul

emboldens my passion and stride 

strengthening me in hours of doubt..

for them i carry the torch of life 

(A.k 17)

maGIC~

I brew magic everyday

on this ebony canvass divine

Wringing ugliness,

destitution and death from this body of mine

I have kissed every crevice,

spoken lovingly to the darkened parts, 

serenaded it under the starry moonlight

and awoke it with kisses at dawn…

i have loved myself to life,

with every birth and breath of mine,

to have you rip me apart again.

(A.k17)

BeD

On this bed…..

i have tasted those lips,

sealed our fortunes with a thousand kisses.

I traced your very lifeline with my tongue,

etched my name on your being,

now you wear my imprint on your soul

Adorned to the heavens with my wiles


On this bed…

I have choked on your distance 

cowered from your heated malice…

i have bitten down on this tongue that once pleasured you…


On this bed.

i watch your strangeness make a home

On this bed.

(A.k17)

birtH

I will make of these weary bones, 

creaking and fragile to the touch,

sweet melodies from beyond Valhalla.


Music of life shall i make from the embers of Death;

conjuring sweet poetry from these ashes

to sate you.

From these cinders,

will your soul will get its fill.

Yes, 

within these embers,

 ambrosia shall burst forth.

(A.k17)