post-card poetry

breakfast in bed

the trick to makin’ love is to be it-
the best tip I can give for a kiss is
to sing it

[‘n always swallow when
givin’ head; none’a this
‘spit’ b.s.]

the secret(s) re: creatin’ the greatest
breakfast are/is as follows:
don’t forget

the way she likes her eggs, put yr f-in
heart y soul ‘n dem hotcakes;

do not, I repeat, do not neglect
to bring it to him in bed

and last, but certainly far from least, fresh
squeeze that o.j./juice and boil then season
them taters before ya fry ‘em!

love y laughter/look mami, no hands!/but it by the gallon
when it’s cheaper by the barrel

you are a shining star

when I’ve everything I could wish for
y more;

you are a fast car which hits green
lights only when I am in a hurry;

you are dreams accomplished, hopes achieved,
‘to-do-lists’ covered with √’s (checks)

letting me know I’ve fulfilled all goals for the week-
you are words of love from
my body

when y if I can’t speak- strength when weak;
a fitted sheet, a down comforter keeping
toes y feet warm w/ incubating,
nurturing, motherly heat

during a snowstorm cold
but full of beauty-

you are a deep replenishing rest w/ pretty
dreams when I can’t sleep-

you mean unique,

you are a gorgeous, lovely, likeable snowflake falling
(peacefully)- you are do-rae-me-fa-so-la-ti; you are
a song I long to sing;

you mean the world to me

you mean galaxies;

you are the everything…

y with the ring of these telephones (travelling through time zones)
I ask thee to marry me, so we can begin living
[all over again and again and again] happy,
free, lucky for ever after

stuffed to the brim, full to the gills with
love y laughter.

a love like ours

the chance of you finding
another love like ours, or/
and a person to/that
love you more than
me are far, far, far
worse than

the odds of a tornado
being capable
of assembling
a Boeing 747
during spring.

[I forgive you, darling, for never seeming
to be able to forgive me]

p.s….and Jesus’ portrait is still crooked

p.p.s. I carved our picture in vegan butter
as a sickening, depressing, yet necessary
reminder that nothing can ever last

p.p.p.s my brother found a ring y gave it to me;
I wear it on my left-hand finger ‘n pretend
we are married- my mother ‘n sisters
gave me pennies shiny;

I threw them in a well then wished you’d come
y rescue me from this hell that you have
trapped me in

the day you ceased speaking-

if only Tibet were free then maybe none’a this
would be happening- unfortunately history
repeats; even in heaven

is

for you ‘n for me ‘n even if
it isn’t, hell will be swell
as long as you are with
me,

darling.

genius

i.when u r my
wife, every
second/each
inch will b

‘a moment of genius’

ii. war isn’t a holy
thing; yet, the majority
of all battles r fought
in ‘the name of god’

iii. me, I’m only fighting
for love’s sake/in love’s
name-please put down
yr weapons, darling, y
surrender to me.

iv. these injuries y wounds
u inflict with this silence
r too much 4 me 2 bear

v. if you marry me
I’ll shave my hair
y tattoo our ring
fingers

and I promise [as much as
ne man/woman/being can]
that I’ll never hurt nor
disrespect u, my majesty

I’ll solely love, protect, support
(emotionally, psychologically,
physically, spiritually) you
until my dying day-

whaddaya say?

birdie

let us fuck
like rabbits
but

love

like penguins
which ‘mate’
and stay

together

for life/forever-

when you are ignoring
me

I wish that I could be
a fish

with a two-second memory
or at the very least
that I could morph

into then be a turtle and/or
tortoise cus’, see, that way
I could spend the day

with my head in my shell
‘n escape/avoid this hell

you’re putting me through;

if I were an ostrich,
if I could stick
my brains

in the dirt/ground/sand
and forget about all this
shit you’ve been

forcing me to eat

yr heart out re: my misery
doesn’t want nor need n.e.
company

simply wings

like a birdie

to fly away from today,
yesterday, a tomorrow
promising to hold

more of the same pain;

fly through yr sky
out of the cold
rain ‘n into

the warmth of our future love
soaring high above this ocean
of our lost innocence.

texas pt.3

in this ‘dat cum’ desert heat,
me: shootin’ a b.b. gun ‘n
tryna think of/become
nothing y nobody

but dreamin’ of you, me, us;
yr harlot red painted lips,
yr little yellow teeth, yr
big flat wide white feet
with

toenails painted jest like those purty lips
of yours; my hand and the curves of yr
hips,

skin pinched during s-e-x

retaining my tiny [yet firm] fingerprint
grip- I see a seagull fly out from
inside of another seagull ‘till
there are two birds

cawing- thought of you, screamed: ‘gawd!
I love you, gurl!!!’

then wondered if you heard it
in texas.