One of Many Poems

This poem is a crime of passion.
This poem is on fire.
This poem is a fresh baked potato with bacon and gouda and green chiles.
This poem is an icy blue margarita that’s more sugar than tequila
This poem is red hot.
This poem is metal fork to mouth, juicy and savory and dripping down your chin, staining your white shirt!
This poem is Indian food in your apartment on a Saturday night.
It’s tikka masala and gluten free naan and mango lassi with a straw.
This poem is edible.

This poem is a crime of passion.
This poem is on fire.
This poem is a well moisturized afro and a bright colored shirt and roller skates.
This poem is a summer night in the backseat of a pickup with the stars glittering down on us.
This poem is red hot.
This poem is corn rows and sweet potato pie and coconut oil skin.
This poem is sitting on your porch with you in a fold up chair as you sip on iced tea, smoking menthols with your cousin who’s not your cousin and is really just your mom’s cousin’s best friend.
This poem is tangible.

This poem is a crime of passion.
This poem is on fire.
This poem is the feeling in the pit of your stomach
The throbbing of your brain against your skull
The pinch of the muscle in your arm
The weight on your organs
The burning in your eyes
This poem is red hot.
This poem is electricity striking across the night sky, casting a white vein between the clouds.
This poem is the thunder and the snow and the crack in the road.
This poem is weather.

This poem is a crime of passion.
This poem is on fire.
This poem is nothing more than a poem.
This poem is words on a page.
This poem is whatever I say it is.
This poem is my mind and now it’s yours.
This poem is red hot.

Advertisement