After sleeping for what seemed like 12 hours, after what seemed like a week from hell, I opened my blog to see that the last post was from October 2019. Talk about a relapse.
Since I’m still not in the right frame of mind to create personal blog articles (No thanks to my suddenly fast-paced life), here’s an old poem I wrote in a public bus about two years ago to shatter the jinx/silence. There is no method to the madness of this poem.
I call it,
“Poets In Love”
Strange things happen
when you fall in love with the voice of a poet
over beer
over smooth talk
over heavy-duty words
and double entendres
You sleep with an image of oceans crossing bridges
and cities in comatose
You wake up with hickies and bite marks
of the unslain vampires from past realities
You drop the limitations of your humanity,
breathe colored air, and believe in exhaustive infinities.
Of two roads divulging in music-filled woods
Of swing dancing to 90s rap
A love story of unsure hands on ready shoulders.
Stranger things happen when two poets fall in love
but don’t fall in love because no matter how good it feels
they know it’s hellish.
When two poets fall in love
Newton’s Apple hangs midair
and parallel tips kiss
When two poets fall in love
13 alphabets are bullets
And the others are Band-Aids
When two poets fall in love
Time freezes and only restarts
After they’ve made weapons out of love letters.
