just another muthafukka in love (again) …

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BREATHLESS.

In the guises of feminism and masculinity,
we paced and stalked definition
with the cunning of a mother lion:
’round and ’round, closer and closer,
until our precarious showdown brought us
face-to-face with insecurity and dream.
As the war-drum heartbeats of a
million Amazons prepared to vanquish
my masculinity at its first indiscretion,
I loaded my tongue with silver arrows
and mercilessly catapulted the words
‘I love you’ against your brazen shield.
And simultaneously we fell … breathless.

RHYTHM AND TEARS.

The rhythmic atonalities
of steely, staccato tears
pelt graying pigmentation
almost senseless.
But the romance of flesh
frozen emotionless by
half-dried ablutions is
the poetry of endings
muting into beginnings.