o’ girl who massages coconut oil into hair,
the next time you wear jasmines in your hair...

life agitates in the cracks between the heart
and the soul, blooming in whole, not parts...

the absence echoes throughout this
self-inflicted desert, a wasteland of...

time has come to a rolling stop –
for this brief moment...

the whirling winds would settle
when i speak your name...

for far too long, i've dreamt of your fingers –
i’m intimate with the poetry they’re capable...

the worst part is the after hours, when floating
memories blur into one another kaleidoscopically...

peered into the belly of the beast
that toils for pageantry, theatre...

you ask, what foods i crave?
you...

i am bereft of truth;
wholly-wedded to the thought...

the clock takes to 4/4 time;
i'm here but rooted somewhere else...

i must confess,
a part of the heart lives in the ear...