Umm, handsome one, my fervent one who plays the heartstrings of my body so softly under the covers
Plummeting within the essence of my silken nature, my handsome Hebrew cosmic lover
Suspending my mind in the throne of undulated ecstasy, solid er...

The melodic elements always harken to thy ears when the universe chimes
It always pours the fastest rings the loudest when blending with the sands of time
My mind is alert yet attentive attuned fortified when at rest
A blessed one not to bow do...

Beloved, may I?

Remove your clothes,

fabric by fabric, revealing what’s

underneath.

For I wish to lay eyes on your Godly

creation in full—

Flaws first, as they are most sacred

to me.

I want to kiss all of your imperfections,

none...

I grew up where the streetlights hum old gospel,
where grandmama's curtains breath the night in slow prayer,
where the corner store knows my name
and the city keeps receipts for every wound.
I learned to walk like I owned a future
they tried to reposse...

Call her Angela

Her government name

Angela Yvonne Davis

Born in Bombingham Alabama

Public enemy number one

The one with the halo afro

The one looking at life without parole

I know you got soul

Fist in the air

Speaking un...

A corresponding voice that

resonates with its own tone;

It’s telling me to come home,

her body waiting in reach.

Collapse all of your distance

on to me.

It whispers past my mind

until the chant is embedded

deep within my aloft,

For ...

We pray under streetlamps that buzz like old radios,
neon halos haloing the hush between two trains.
Mama folds Sunday into Tupperwares, tucks the sermon
in the ribs of fried chicken, and sends it out
to the stoop congregation—us, tired and holy.
Kid...

I learned how to pray with my knees on cracked concrete,
the church bells muffled by the traffic,
mama humming hallelujah into the hush of our hallway.
We wore Sunday like armor —
polished shoes, polished lies,
but the grace was real even when the re...

It’s becoming a young world.

Elders start their ascent,

leaving descendants to follow

in the embossed foot steps.

May they wear the same wisdom

as those pewter strands,

and the heavy quiet ethos worn

deep into enduring spirits.

The...

at one time
black
was evil and satanic
then became
beautiful
whereas
it is now
fashionable
and God only knows what black will be
tomorrow

so
I wonder what would it be like
if I were a planet in your universe

what if I flew too near to your sun?
would you singe my wings like Icarus
hurling me downward onto the jagged rocks of your shores?

could I revolve
and evolve within ...

I wish for the snow to fall
anytime
summer days as well as now

emotions
frozen
like icicles hanging from arctic cliffs
one false move
one blue verb
one frozen adjective
a downward spiral
dashing against the frozen pavement below
I sha...

The Rite, the Tools, the Spirits, the Workers
To reclaim our rite, we must correct the confusion that colonizers created. They blurred lines on purpose. They mislabeled us on purpose. They twisted our cosmology on purpose.
Vodou is not Hoodoo. V...

I. Before the Chains: The Supreme Knowledge of Our People

Before the ships. Before the branding irons. Before the names were stolen. Before the languages were broken.

Our people lived inside Supreme Knowledge.

We did not just “practice religi...

Listen — the street hums like a hymn, neon prayers in the gutters,
and the city keeps the beat of our heartbeats,
steel-toed rhythms stamping out the silence.
We learned to speak in sirens and dollar bills,
to baptize our dreams in corner store ligh...

Let me kiss you the right way,

all over, soft and slow.

Losing my breath in between

savoring each quote.

Brow, neck, shoulder, “lower”—

your petite breasts,

“lower”—

Feel the way the rest of

you trembles as the mood begins

t...

My city hums like a throat clearing — morning coffee, tires, the backyard radio.
Streets remember your name before you do,
and concrete keeps the stories of the ones who thought they could fly
and the ones who learned the shape of falling.

I learne...

I move like the city breathes —
short gasps between streetlights,
long sighs when trains pass in the night.
We know the cadence here:
sirens, laughter, the old man whistling at dawn,
the baby crying through the thin walls,
hope rattling like change in...

I wake before the city shakes,
put my hand on the hood of dawn like it owes me something.
The block is breathing slow—sirens stitch the seams,
corner stores pulse with fluorescent prayer.
Mama taught me how to count blessings between red lig...

They say the city teach you
how to breathe in the ash.
It teaches you how to pray
with your back against a brick wall
and your pockets full of yesterday’s promises.

Morning smells like coffee joints
and the greasy hymn of the corner grill.
The subway ...