My black queen,
I offered to give her the world,
And mine.

I brought her the draught that circled
The apex of the pyramids
With a portion of the nightly stars.

With me I brought the calm of sea
From the south of Nigeria
In the looms of my birth right.

The quartet of her throne was my Adam’s apple
You could hear her in the crack of my voice
As I sung psalms of praise.

I washed her hair at dusk
Adorned it with myrrh and frankincense
In the locks of her hair was my temple.

I was Maryannu of her majesty’s army,
Born to serve,
Guardian of her River Nile.

I stood watch over her shut eye
And in her awakening,
Her honey dipped iris breathes me new life.

She is earth,
The soul of a god,
She is supreme.

My black queen,
I told her I loved her,
And in my words she found novelty.

– Smyekh David-West.






I knew about you in the life before
I saw you in my front garden,
You nestled among the roses
They nurtured from your radiance.

On my birth day
I cried your name
And my tears ran
The ends of the world to find you.

In my first dreams
We danced bare in the rain
You always left, and
Begged me to follow.

You came as a sister
On the cusp of February
You married death
And I didn’t know how to mourn

Your eyes are a spitting image,
From the psalms of genesis.
In the blessings of reincarnation
I’ve found you anew.

I’ll see you again in the after life
In my cold grave I’ll lay in wait
For heaven is only heaven
If my hands are intertwined with yours.

– Smyekh David-West.

Tender Knock


I want to kiss you bellow the belt
From the nape of your waistline
To the bend of your knees
Would you stop me if I did?

If my lips were replaced with fingertips
Would that be a problem?
I want to turn you over
And travel the trails in your back.

Would it be very okay?
If I held your lips with mine
Even for a minute or a lifetime
I want to taste the words you speak.

I want to feel your insides
And the earthquakes in your thighs
Would that be a mutual understanding?
For in your body I lose my mind.

– Smyekh David-West.



My ante meridian letter lies not,
It’s no fine print.
In it’s asperous periphery
Reigns my inhibitions aplenty.

Leaf through graciously,
Before the last fold of your eye lashes.
A moonlight tale for your umbra
Discard the pieces in the depths of your heart.

Words that angels die to sing,
As the quill sways effortlessly ‘tween my fingers
So did every tendon of my quintessence Chorale to sing,
Conducted by grey matter.

It was the memoirs in your smiles,
Dancing shadows from your melted voice
It was love,
A letter written past midnight.

– Smyekh David-West.