at night
the moon becomes liquid
dreams subsiding north
brightly shinning
close to our martial bed
while we entwine
red sequence in-between
the sheets
spasms say, "yes"
no, to the dew of dawn
half curled finger tips
wave welcomes to secret pleasures
we dance to the bending of the stars
a hula dancers’ nightmare
stuck between the galaxy
we do the voodoo
carving small white doves
saluting our love
to tell our story
at night
we pull out
red checkered blankets
swallowed by the night
wrap whispers’ wind
while eating juju bees
laughing at soft sounds
that inspires our lovemaking
moving south to the border
juicy fruit smack sandwiched in the lips
our erotic exotic interpretations
of karma sutra
delectable while sitting on the porch
passions that hang on spittles of cupid’s beard
I am a descendant of le creole montague
spreading to the carolinas
in the tobacco fields
dreaming of plows that burn finger tips
oversized breast of ancestry
riding proudly with the birthmark
of my overseers
cursed blood flowing down my ankles
causing water gain
fighting its own civil war
into the depression of no man’s land
this where father takes me
where now
the streets cut
pave
into the hill side
as oak trees play patty cake with the wind
flaxen colored leaves mixed with rouge
dance lightly to the ground
and i listen the beat of djembes
talking
behind the french quarter
where my great-great grand mere
with long drawn out skirts
once polluted the air with her beauty
wild
restless
a true debbie taunt
kissing garcons
soon became impregnated by an African
jeans bloody
x-ing the middle
of her passage
taken her love
away gentle
lush
fingers expressing
her empathy
lashing out her
sins
of the first born
taken to the heavens
cropped and snipped
tossed into succulent
dust
old bloodied aroma
from a nine month
dream
of a love child
once
there was a tummy
with elastic band
pulling over
a living being
ten toes
and torso
proud and smiling
at ma-ma
now a voided
vision
in a picture
box