She makes me write… [POEM]

I made her the same promise,
But I wasn’t the same honest,
This time around I see the difference,
Won’t be the same problem,
No games,
Like an estranged baller,
so I’m hanging it up,
my past is a deranged caller,
going back to basics,
pronunciation and phonics,
I’m booked,
I’m in some kind of trans,
I’m hooked,
She say she can dance,
I looked…

up her sign,
found it to be the perfect compliment to mine,
intertwined destinies and desires,
she’s hired,
fired up my engine
I don’t know how it started,
she spoke,
wrote a few messages,
now I’m texting her autobiographies, automatically,
I’m on auto-pilot,
trying to regain my balance,
but I’m challenged,
no recipes,
and the top chef starving,
only eating the air she breathes,
hunger pains till she returns,
staring at the phone,
words smelling like
the breath she leaves,
on my pillow,
and I don’t even know her yet,
but I’m still so confident,
take her emojis as a compliment,
and her Facebook posts as a sign,
that I’ve conquered it,
I’ve made it through already,

Now I’m expectant,
I want her pregnant,
womb full of my seed,
I want her to bleed for me,
I want her to cry out in our darkness,
of her need for me,
I want her to sing for me,
I want her to look God in the face,
and say she has a thing for me,

Or at least stay through the night,
in which case I don’t mind it being dark the rest of my life,
I’ll just light candles
and play India Arie songs,
the ones that she likes,
and we can fight,
till she makes me write.


©2014 Cornelious “See” Flowers


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