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Sin was my first religion, I’m probably going to do it often so Lord please forgive me. For taking me so long to tap into these frequencies. You see I intend to marry a woman who can look at my madness and call it beautiful. The art of concealing your source is originality. A black woman appeared hovering over the Mississippi river as I was desperately looking for more depth in my reflection. Canvas of the night she moved in a Jazz time signature. Celestial energy distorting itself into flesh common to the original woman. Welcome to the transfiguration of Jordan.
I’ve heard stories back in my village of the power residing in this collected body of water. The thing is I wasn’t expecting a deity of God to manifest into something like her. Baby girl had no fear of the fire stalking my journey. Approached me with caution like a flower who knew nothing but the sun. Beauty defying every damn smokescreen humanity continues to birth but she is light. Coconut oil is her mark, air is her calling and shorty was thick as striped molasses. I will see hell for such one-dimensional worship.
I heard about your time in Eden yet thighs moved thunder and music orbiting your hips was a classic. Oshun blushes every second I lose control cause she’s fascinated by liberation. Inspired a little boy’s odyssey exploration of thinking that he warred with himself instead of swimming in. Here I am a grown man drowning myself in these same waters. Honey gold skin, melanin, and ultra violet brushstrokes she is the sun’s painting. Do not be fooled by her stature if you get close enough she will snatch your soul with extreme vigor at her own leisure. I’m sure you can understand why she consistently stays current, she’s dictating the rhythm of the river.
Healing in her lips as they embrace me. If the walls could talk about the soul tie between me and your eyes what would they say? They have made me your slave. I am not drowning in water yet I still write about your powers. Wounds seal voided cracks in my temple like reconstruction of fallen Wakanda. Jordan gave my insanity a canvas to dance upon. It’s become too natural for the spirit animal to shift dialects according to her poetry. Essence of a king in a tailored suit entering a constant changing matrix.
Oshun made her debut in your shadow and it’s making sense. Jordan was never regular, a church girl but very secular. If she can quote Maya Angelou, Nikki Giovanni, and Sonya Sanchez verbatim in every mask her subconscious facades for us to see, then oh my nigga fear her. Calm rain while yet storms living in her veins but wants you to experience her climax. Be very afraid, I mean an unreserved reverence for her presence at I least I did. Around here we praise the most definite and a black feminist theory aint something to fuck with. You have no beginning or end only shifting of states. I knew the God in you is so perfect that is was evident I would fall short making your fairytale a reality. Long as I can stare at you in awe like the first time I’ve seen a Van Gough painting, I’ll do whatever you say. Jordan’s river can take life yet it’s restores too just like you. A force not intended for control but balance.
St. Louis sweeties by Josef Writes
I picked up the payphone receiving word autumn’s gaze painted several footsteps of mine throughout downtown Saint louis. Public announcement of a cassette tape going viral in silence. They just don’t make them like you anymore. Calmness is volume when I search for you in familiar spaces retrieve fragments of influence beyond my reach. Herbal essence its the presence pomegranate lipped, brown sugar sun-kissed. Keep every thought black on this quest love. Levitate the roots nature offers so senses can remember where her scent duplicate. Shit an Orchid blossom regardless of who is there to appreciate it.
Memories play like raw footage of a feature film earth benders complement in distance. Third dimensional vision we either become god or a wild beast in solitude,complimenting art is my prison. Little baby had soul admit it, I used to love h.e.r……Church girl and secular. I could vibe shorty who doesn’t like time travel. Her light beacon for African divinity. I charge every man who gets to chance her don’t be seduced by her stature. The rhythm is die for yet inner G hovers Goliath and that’s a mother’s nature. Seen what truly exist behind brown pupils Nefertiti. There is no trace of me outside Miles Davis vinyl however I appear in vibes. Astral projection resident to relevance in my approach to you. I think about you in the context of mahogany but there’s a collection of work to account for I can’t be near your fire. Light nonetheless what a vision to experience. There are poems my hands tremble to write. Nearness on sunny street why does the caged bird sing? I sing because I can still get lost in your canvass from here.
Pomegranate lipped, sun-kissed, brown sugar, Shea butta scented, Revolutionary minded woman with the strength of ten thousand moons. Black girl magic is a myth I choose solitude because I have seen the voodoo. Cameo appearances in peculiar vibrations is safer than being next to you. Writing about a high I’m drawn to like Mary Jane but settle with the nearness of you that’s the St. Louis Blues.
I am an earth type of being but I was attracted to the light in your fire. A beauty that devours sight each time you experience the essence. Look how beautiful you become when you lose control. I’m not sure how you could possibly complement my life but good gracious God this attraction is becoming radiant. I am sure senses multiply when she reaches her peak.
The sway in curves, moist in lips, glow in melanin and freedom in the mind. You see in order to welcome such glory into existence depth is the only way to connect. Is it sinful to wonder about her inner G? Is that shit still a black aesthetic walk through central park? Early 2000s I’m here for all of that. Seed of the earth rooted in fruits hand-picked by Shaka Zulu because earth is my element.
Shaking legs to walk towards admitting you look good when you are comfortable. A vibe that might exceed rhythm I wonder why is their so much depth in your surface. could it be purpose? That I paint beautiful things about canvas I shouldn’t be creating. Lord forgive me for this 1930s scenario of New York Romanticism shadowing pages in a journal. Night walks through central park, dancing in silence visible to your glow. Do I deserve damnation for the novels of these idols I have painted? I’m only inspired.
However this phoenix has been robbing me of personal attention by simply being fire. The shadow simplifies ligaments of an old soul dancing around this aurora. When she walks across the room you got to watch her in silence because heaven’s view of her curves shifts nature without warning. I bet night seems like forever when shorty disconnects from you.
Frankly speaking, I feel a little nervous about appreciating the art following this vibe. I broke the code giving life these ideas. Relationship with an addiction to paint beautiful things despite what abstract form it takes. Is she in a position to really receive the praise of her copper skin, smile, and energy when shorty glides across the room without question? I’m starting to believe the hypocrite is me because maybe I’m not a virgin to this destination I’m placing on paper. Dear Poetry I have seen you before. I was a boy with a curiosity but I am a lengthy Black King who stops to appreciate fine things.
The devil is a woman dressed in angelic fabric, good intentions, and elegance. Horns manifest into a smile that gets you hooked into her atmosphere without blinking. What was I thinking ? She gotta presence that rivals the closest thing to heaven you might experience on earth even mother nature clings to her fragrance. Feeling the disconnect inside of her like we are miles apart. I’m more familiar with distance than the average man so I refuse to travel back into a frequency that mass produce multitudes of hurt creating a reality where I can’t relocate oxygen. You spend so much time in rebuilding a fortress that protects your heart as a keepsake you begin to call into question everything that looks familiar. It’s peculiar recalling four-inch heels being pulled in and out of your chest like muscle memory. Accountability is foreign to her culture which always creates a loop-hole to her Achilles heel. Yet promise you the world while making your existence feel small for experiencing some type of discomfort. Soul tie got you mummy wrapped up in bondage as if you shadowed King Tut. Temptress by night fall and I’ve seen the night fall so I’m not afraid to lose a soul, I’ve seen what hell looks like.
what are you supposed to do when you’re in love ?
A gypsy put me onto some information that elevated the confines of reality society created for me. We are two different variations of black but when our worlds meet they collide like two spirits astral projecting back into the same host. I’ve never experienced oxygen outside her space since I experienced depths in her eyes. Light years of knowledge just taking up storage yet so eager to share. Fashion music in silence surrounded by violence baby I’m fluent too. Influenced by you I speak in the tongues of our Mother Africa like sounds of Congo drums supporting visions of the Serengeti. Moonlight serenading electricity between the two defying any gravitational pull. Thunder doesn’t strike twice is a metaphor God used to paint you into my blueprint as the one for me. Revolutionaries envy the soil of my flesh for you have been the beacon of progress enveloped as a human entity. Your soul gives off smoke signals as I kiss your third eye cause it’s no lie in your fire. I am your protector however you looked me deeply just to say that you were there to save me by multiplying everything I am. The exchange of power is why I’m in love with you my strength and weakness all wrapped in to one being her name was Peanut.
Her vibe sanctioned passage to a frequency no mortal can access in casual time. Signature when the moon align with your system of existence like the sun reached it’s apex position. Spirited woman but she a savage too especially the way she imprinted on every king channeling life out of melanin canvassing my bone structure. All an introduction could educate to the brown skin woman was that only a man in Kings counsel could address her. Seance drawing light from Yoruba tattoos riding passenger in a sunken place while ancestors fill the venue. Riding a cloud anxious for the moment I fell in love with you. Kindred spirits connected in a timeless fashion centuries later mediums still struggle to access our power. Ocean currents move according to your rhythm. Shea butter scented skin stood as a live in beacon when I needed to access you. Wow your power exceeds your small stature every inch of the room you take emulates radiance beneath your feet.
History books detail that light consumed her when darkness in other people projected onto her breaking the very thing she entrusted them to protect. Fake love tends to come counterfeited in traits you idolize. Walls gentrified her heart from love that understands the depths of her own. We both been hurt to the magnitude of recreating ourselves before so I climbed mountains on borrowed energy. I saw how you light the moon despite your reservations of being taken for granted. Granted you’re the manifestation of prayers I have spoken. Sense of humor feeling like soul food towards every one in contact with you. What happens when she stop laughing and the experience with her begins to look too familiar. Less and less contact you can feel the love drained from her voice when communication takes place. Put demons to sleep worshiping the ground of my Queen but I feel the ghost puncturing my heart with 3 inch high heels. So accustomed to troubled waters that you are struggling to receive a man only desire to share oxygen with you. I can love you forever down to your bones and imperfections however I can’t force you to be here. I wish you still enjoyed the rhythm I give you.