Polygamy, my therapy

bloodywrits.blogspot.com

another speakable excerpt from something trashy

Woman, I want to love you

Love you in ways, more than one

Love you in ways, less than a million

Love you in ways, one-tenth of a zillion

Love you in ways, in length, Amazonian

Love you in ways, in breadth, Sino-Russian

Love you in ways that leave you stuttering

Love you in ways that leave your lips lisping, lapping, listening, sipping

From this great gourd of liquid, lilting, lily-white loving

I want to love you

          Like a fool loves foolery

          Like women love finery

          Like ARISI* loves men’s blood

          Like the chicken’s love for the grain

          Like me, dying, without veins

          Like the Rift valley and earthquakes

          Like celebrities and sunshades

          Like our politicians and rape (of us)

That’s what my loving is

Me, singing you this . . . this . . .

Lady, mine, your eyes can clearly see

That my love, enough for us, drowns the seas

Fells the Rockies; bathes the Pyrenees;

Rides the Alps; tears the Himalayas in teeny halves

My love lasts long

And I  survive when you say no

I survive even when my alveoli

Collapses and pleads my lungs

And nostrils for more air . . .

For just a yes . . . for just a yes . . .for just a yes

I survive for my leucocytes are polygamous

I survive for polygamy resides in my marrows and femurs

There, love for my mother’s slowly deflating paps

There, love for everything scribbled down by hell on pads

There, love for the experience garnered by thighs and thighs of older women

There, love for ephemerals- highs, highs and highs that my money can’t buy yet

There, love for follicles, skin pores and downs on skin of corrupt of forever 18s

There, tears, tears and tears I would never cry, forced into this pen

infused with tannins and lali*, crying on these sheets

what my lachrymals would never do . . . never do . . . will never do.

P.S- Polygamy, my therapy, my vaccine

We shall smile tho we cry

bloodywrits.blogspot.com

for a friend, her family, her DAD and my AUNT

For seeds to rise, they die,

I’m told

For good to come, sometimes,

the bad unfolds

I am told

Why do babies,

those chubby, giggling, pudgy,

sweet, little things,

die?

I wonder . . . I have wondered

Now my thoughts wander

In circles of seamy, sartorial stitches . . .

I wander, wonder clothed in all the seeming philosophical reasons

postulated by man . . .

          for why the prettiest of blooming flowers wither;

          for why my love for my wow friend has gone sour, bitter;

          for why the Magi divorce Reason when it comes to sex;

          for why the genius in his ingenuity never gets heard

                   by the rich

                             moron.

Still wandering, wondering . . .

 Philosophy and the holy books have made no difference;

I shall weep anyway . . .

PS- Tears spilled in remembrance of smiles

          And times we dined, wined, loved, loved and loved

We still shall love and smile.