Is your love HyperQBic?
Does it have Alchemical metaphors?
Does it have colorpuntal pearls like a ghost poem?
Here we go again.
I’m not thirsty, you’re thirsty
AN IDEA OF IMPROVISATION
AS MUCH ADU ABOUT NOTHING
“Didn’t I tell you what I believe,
did somebody say that . . .”
Sade
Ifemi, is it a rhyme
if not even
the nutty undertone
of almond blossoms
can stop a man
from being spotted
like a Luna moth
in the halo
of a porch light?
And Beloved, how many
more dream cycles
before your cat eyes
& vixen lipstick
leap the ravine
of No Return
to sip me again
as a sommelier would
a finger of Pinot
or your rebel red nails
re-press their crescents
across the midnight sky
of my back?
Half icicle, half feather,
it seems only this morning
your fingers
counted every curl
on my neck,
but Ifemi who now
is paying attention
to the shades
of your phases
of the moon tattoo?
Pray tell, should
our gazes cross again,
I promise not to miss
your wrist’s brassy passion
for Adinkra charms
& police bracelets
or how your husky alto
might begin to crown
my love as king.
Ifemi, what keeps
us seeking cashmere
from palms
marked by symbols
of five types of feral?
Oh, freckled cheeks of Jesus,
I may be starting to grasp
why Shakespeare said
Cupid kills
some with arrows,
some with traps.
But who knows
if even communion
could wholly classify
the butterflies caught
by your amber irises?
Ifemi, where
is it written
—as a saxophone
signals sapphire—
that a fool for roses
must always be
a fool for rain?
I don’t believe
you whispered
“a love like hours won’t last”
before your ponytail of
[titanium & samarium]
swung past
a first flame of bud
to our last good buy.
But how may
I truly be sure
if the sandalwood & citrus
in your hair can settle
what a single strand
seems to be trying
to say about absence
as a way of staying?
