So often

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So often I speak about your lips,
And your dimpled places,
So often I run out of words,
And my pen is left choking.

So often I walk through,
The gardens in my fantasies,
So often there’s a flower blooming of you,
And my can is left watering.

So often I dream dreams,
Mostly of you,
So often, you are limned in the linings of my dream catcher,
And my dream is left wandering.

So often I’m ascended into the higher realms,
The power of the presence of your touch,
So often I meet my maker,
And my prayer is left answered.

– Smyekh David-West.

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Cigarette smile

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Mama smoked,
My perfectly placed cuticles,
Mama smoked,
Till my fingernails shed.
Mama smoked,
The stem of my lungs,
Mama smoked,
Till they blackened like tar.

Mama smoked,
At the crack of dawn.
Mama smoked,
Daylight into a mist.
Mama smoked,
When the sun set,
Mama smoked,
Moonlight into a fog.

Mama smoked,
My tear droplets,
Mama smoked,
Them into puffs of happiness.
Mama smoked,
My headaches,
Mama smoked,
Them into wafts of repose.

Mama smoked,
My dreams and aspirations,
Mama smoked,
Me an education.
Mama smoked,
My insecurities,
Mama smoked
Me an august beam.

Mama smoked,
My spurious father,
Mama smoked,
Herself some prized bread.
Mama smoked,
My hate for him,
Mama smoked,
Herself some more love.

Mama smoked,
The locks in my hair,
Mama smoked,
Them into an untangled mess.
Mama smoked,
The threads in my uniform,
Mama smoked,
Them into a folded heap.

Mama smoked,
Her childhood adventures,
Mama smoked,
Them into bedtime stories.
Mama smoked,
Her trials and tribulations,
Mama smoked,
Them into life lessons.

Mama smoked,
Her youth,
Mama smoked,
It into a stained smile.
Mama smoked,
My umbilical cord,
Mama smoked
It into all of me.

– Smyekh David-West.

Definitions or definitions?

defines

What truly defines your beauty?
Is it the lines in your curves,
That make a case for womanhood,
Or the strides in your step,
That command two and a hundred,
Marching soldiers in your buttocks.

What truly defines your beauty?
Is it the look in your eyes,
That persuade my stomach,
To empty out,
And be replaced with butterflies,
Or that I’m made weak from its transparency.

What truly defines your beauty?
Is it the notes in your voice,
That make you redefine every pronunciation,
And your accent is that of seduction,
Or that your dimples spell temptation,
And it lodges all my insecurities.

What truly defines your beauty?
Is it the gaunt women that meander fashion houses,
That make you point fingers at your gut,
And your reflex to gag begs to fit in their frames,
Or that you’re oblivious that bones,
Do not seduce men,
And you’re essentially eccentric.

What truly defines your beauty?
Is it the outline of your full lips,
That I’m constantly getting caught between them,
Because I’ve tasted your insides,
And my fantasies are now,
A fragment of what it’s made from,
Or that in secrecy I worship your mind.

– Smyekh David-West.

Palpitations

palpitations

I feel them as earthquakes,
They rupture the valves,
In my heart of hearts,
I have palpitations of you.

I feel them in the,
Tangles in my hair,
As they dance around my fingertips,
I have palpitations of you.

I feel them as warm breeze,
They engulf me,
And tickle my spine,
I have palpitations of you.

I feel them, I feel them,
They in themselves,
Are a personification of you,
I have palpitations of you.

– Smyekh David-West.

Forever the end

The end

But the end was in forever,
Those moments we recorded,
Are in the poems I wrote you,

The little walks through Haiti,
Must have been,
Walks down the aisle.

The Brooklyn nights,
Must have been,
None more than the honeymoon.

Those moments build fences,
Around a home, in my words,
Without permission.

Maybe the first picture,
Was a portrait of,
Married life.

Maybe the true meaning of a divorce,
Is two hearts returned,
Whilst their lives, still live together.

Our address and children’s names,
Live in all those letters,
Every punctuation, every pause.

But maybe forever has an end,
And “it’s over” with my name attached,
Is just another way of saying it.

In the poems I wrote you,
Are those moments we recorded,
But the end was in forever.

– Smyekh David-West.