By Vejea Jennings (c)
Last night I slept with a poem.
she awoke from my pillow
beneath the window pained
by my tears. across her cheeks.
sheets of silk. she the flesh of
trees. last night I slept with
a poem. when I met her she was
an afterthought. an epiphany
robed in flowing loose-leaf.
knowing of wayward souls.
the way I would word souls
on to papers embraced her.
poetry written comes alive
only when heard...
by vejea jennings (c)
My heart is forgetful
and wet full of sorrow
washed away by time
this time with you
from the nape of your neck
cupped fragrances
in my hands each time
I caressed your skin
Your mother birthed you satin
and your flesh fabric smooth to the touch
making the sun subdued so we could share
midnight love-making like a glass of wine
intoxicated by lips that stir his and her brains
until his and her change from clothed
to closed-door his and her wardrobes