Blue Music Dream

For O-, where the brewing coffee can reach your lips (3 poems)


In bed you sought signs of a massacre in my hands

The morning begins with your

tired fingers finding the sun under the tiles,

Some meals we call tender activism,

sauvignon in paper cups

Speaking thick Swahili your mouth a trampoline.

A shipwreck in my blood yearning to be found

Treasure perfect for your dress.

Floating on your skin

All the words a palate can hold.



We tremble at night, new leaves bud from the sides where limbs were cut off, this new light emblazons our new skin-hides, your face is a lamina complete with a network of tears, holes in your palms for the times we sacrifice love for poems. Your make-up hues of adobe walls, I kiss the hem of your dress and leave you a virgin.



Where the brewing coffee can reach your lips

Each raindrop is a word you learn to remember

with the levees of your sandals

As an act of love

You blow up the carcass of an umbrella

And I am glad to offer you a disguise.



In the delicatessen

Your palms and eyes



The shelves of marble sweets

My blood under your nails


a room

where you throw love to me

three times a day.


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