hot hips, steady jazz

better than
soft core during
hard hours found past midnight
set within perriwinkle television lighting
she is,
when afternoon light catches her
moving like old flip comic books
i loved when i was small.
i swear her hips
were born to rival an upright bass
and lay me low
crossing the room,
and if i keep quiet
i can hear her breathing
move briskly
along my heartstrings.

sickening sightseeing

one wonders
as tour buses roll through
the veins of the boogie-down
just how much
these people paid
to see bogeymen in hoodies and Timberlands?
would their snapshots
be on shared cloud services of disdain
would they clamor
for souvenirs in the form
of weather-beaten wooden rosaries,
EBT cards and Yankees fitted caps?
would they be scoping out
apartment buildings
for new adventures in what they’d call
one wonders
when we all got sick enough
to view the streets of the downtrodden
as a vacation;
it’s bad enough
there’s areas where folks make their homes
treated like lab experiments
called ‘projects’

ink and tension

i read the stories
spelled out across your shins

buttery skin cut by vivid paint
all the protect the wound inside

trysts by cyberspace a peace treaty
but our attraction demands a war fought by tongues

will you paint another tale
on yourself to carry?

and will this one, with me wrapped in ink and tension
be more vivid than others?

nails the color of merlot

paint your fingernails
the color of merlot
so that when you slip your hands
between your thighs
you can get more drunk
after we kiss

leave that wine
at the corners of the apricot slices
you were gifted as lips
so i can savor them in kisses
as i grab you by your hips
so that dessert can begin

these stockings against your skin
grow damp with your honey
and your nails
painted the color of merlot
dig into my back
saying only one thing:

‘tonight, we will be drunkards and tomorrow, lovers.’

assata on her bounty

morning greets her
on a veranda in the hills
sitting lotus style
as she sips tea
laced with the nectar of agave
and freedom ripped from fascists.

see, mornings
that live after a state
condemns you to die
got their own power
that cuts clouds to bleed out sun.

Assata laughs seeing the news
hearing she shares space on a list
where Bin Laden used to be,
she sits with pieces of soul named George, Bobby & Huey
smiles and says, ‘more proof freedom isn’t free.’