before i sleep

laying here our last night
in the crook of your arm
smelling your sweet sleeping smoker’s breath

i want to write poetry to you
of you and tonight, your lips in the light
of an ending kanye west film

closed now, averse to spitting verse upon verse
in peculiar vernacular foreign to my frenchy
southern oreo speech (until you wake);

poetry to how your skin tasted
when you let me kiss it yelling rape
and that quiet scent in your hair
like a child after baths

to how i call you baby,
because you grow more in my memory
every moment

poetry to wanting you
to push your lips into these crevices,
rock my hips into hills of blanket
in the heat of this room,

to how you breathe hard in my ear
and say my name when i’m not listening
love me in slaps and racial slurs
and angry teeth in my twisting limbs–
your knees hemming me like tapestry
stitched in longing and lust
in tender violence, sweet succulent
ash-dusted mouth on my mouth,

i want to write poetry to all this
all of the above

maya and nikki and edward and charles,
lend me your pen, open my mouth,
let me speak of love

i gotta tell you this

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