You’re No Cleopatra

I dream in technicolor.
I’m old fashion
by believing in honest love with a passion.
While ashing with some friend
I remembered long ago
the snow over a place in Italy
symbolizing the end of a city.
Just a city really. 
If a thing of beauty
is a joy forever
why are we not still together?
We were clock work.
Now the clock won’t work.
A bit out of sorts
I’m argue it’s not my fault>
I argue chivalry is alive
albeit with less drive.
Perhaps due to “this”.
Relationships are the eye of a storm
with fury at its beginning
and their end.
But I’m a machine
I keep trudging.
At an impasse
we encountered a sleeping boulder
that’s not budging.
We took different trails.
A failure of some love
that others imagined we had.
A Dali painting
with clocks so dry
that they melt.
We can’t be trapped in time.
I felt that maybe I had been dealt
a poor hand by God.
Too black to be accepted
too honest to be believed
too loving to abandon you
so easy to deceive.
But I’m old fashion.
Roman Holidays make me believe
in love with a passion.
Honest;y
sometimes I liken myself to Antony.
Betraying another
turning my back on safety
until…
finally..
By the one I thought I loved most
I’m abandoned

Naomi (From Steve for Valentine’s Day)

You sing the syllables of each word 
as you talk.
Those blonde threads that if you had let grow
would have been taller than you.
Green eyes with shards of blue.
As if I could see the electricity of your soul in them.
Sometimes, if I mention your height
or rub your small belly as if you’re nursing a child,
you’ll blush, shout, and push me away.
Remember our first time?
In my parent’s basement on the black leather couch
with cheap softcore porn playing.
Embarrassed, you told me to turn it off
then we proceeded in silence.
As I first tried to enter you
you yelped and punched me in the sternum.
I gasped for breath, pulled back, glared at you.
You awkwardly apologised. Convinced me to continue.
This time I fit, somehow
cause heaven knows you were tighter
than the space between our lips as I kissed you to muffle your moans. 
You shook your head causing your hair to scatter on your face.
Then you grabbed my neck and pulled me close.
You scratched at my back, 
reaching for a reality that you were losing to your oncoming orgasm.
In the silence there was heavy breathing, pleading,
and a sloshing sound from how wet you were. 
As you came closer and closer you covered your face with your hands.
Bit your lower lips, turned red, and came. 
I felt it. Like a balloon that burst after so much.
The warm, moisture tightening around me.
I heard a sobbing.
I moved your hands and kissed your tears.
You pulled your face to my chest
and just breathed…..
Nowadays when we make love you still cry. 
But when we fuck…
You wear the shortest skirts.
The tightest shirts.
You bite, claw, pull like an animal.
You beg for marks and bruises.
But with one line
I see your human side.
“Fuck me harder and make me know you love me.”

Promises of Words

We dream of great things
with hope of achieving them.
Then often settle.

If I ever settle
and choose to give up my dreams
show these musings.

Remind me of days
skipping class thinking only
of my love for words.

Doing everything 
so I’d have experiences
to later write of.

How all that I did
was so I could write each day
despite life matters.

If I tie a noose
around my neck, then pull it
till my eyes pop out.

If I forget how 
to think then blow my brains out
and paint history’s walls. 

If I become like
those people that critique
show me my own truth.

I offer these words
as a promise that never
will I change myself.

My word and ideas
shall remain as true as now.
This is my promise.