Nightingales nuance
morning melodies for those...
My sorrowful pockets
are lined with skeletal...
Found this buried on my computer and thought I...
"In the Caribbean, almost
everyone is a bastard child"...
We both know what
the black stars hide...
If you could see the wind
you would find my love...
Oh your cryptic lines play words
like a carnival game...
Swirling down the drain,
those dreams go again...
Everyday, the poet leaves me a little more
I try to wrap my legs around her...
Sip on these tears with me my love.
Come, let us dine on our sorrows, we will never...
She clung fiercely to her own
self-damaged skin...
I went to the station where the rain was
pouring, turbulent, seven years old...