Adoring Elucidation

In your embrace, spiraling black waterfalls are released
Vastly flowing over brown hue contours,
Pouring into deep spinal ridges and forming new rivers.
Calming morning showers on yellow butterflies
With an emerging sunrise, are your whispers.
The brightness of your radiance is the accumulation
Of the rays of the sun, for seven summers.

Her Cogitation

Sitting on a twin sized bed in a dimly lit motel room, she lights a cigarette and opens up a bible; she inhales the nicotine, then a slow exhale. After reading a few verses, she closes her eyes and takes another pull; she has worked all night and she is tired, with a little redness of the eyes, but she is beautiful. The intricacies of her contemplation could never be properly conveyed through any written literature or narration. She makes money anyway she can, to feed herself and provide for her son, but she seldom sees him. She prays money’s accumulation will be her salvation; she wants to be a much better mother and live again. The tobacco in her cigarette nears its end — she takes a drink, leaving the condensation on the night stand. She lies down with the television on, the volume low. The comfort of a comforter underneath her, she meant to cover herself, but she was too exhausted. Her eyes close with the hopes of beautiful dreams. She slips her left arm under the coolness of a soft pillow, falling asleep in her heels.

Ghosts of Old 42nd Street

Lascivious intent stalk the city blocks were women in short skirts and six inch heels walk. Naked ladies dance seductively in front of eager men for money; they dart in and out of dark 25 cent peep show booths, secretly. The scent of perfume and cigarette smoke lingers heavily; women of the night approach cars with dimmed lights. X rated movie theaters run films all night. The inebriated lean on glass windows under neon lights. Men and women use cocaine to stem the somnolence and numb the pain. Heroin users lie zombified in cheap dingy hotel rooms with dirty needles still in the vain. A prostitute walks down 42nd street in torn stockings, holding her broken heels, feeling the warmth of summer night concrete beneath her feet; she has worked for twelve hours straight with no sleep, under the sprawling glare of Times Square.

People eat in diners at 4 AM, and after two cups of coffee, through large windows listlessly stare. The scent and feel of New York City permeates the night’s air. The underbelly of the city are the fulfillment of licentious desires, addicts getting high, violence, tiredness, the pursuit of money, and sordid transactions. The drunk and homeless urinate on themselves, slumped over on subway platform benches. People wait on the train, with eyes bloodshot and lifeless. Another young lady heads to 42nd street, seeking quick money and excitement. The city blocks swallow you subtly in a matter of minutes, hours, or days. It traps you in its bright colorful lights. Out of towners languish for weeks, missing long forgotten flights. Uninhibited wildness leads to the exploration of long suppressed vices. Euphoria takes over.

Unimaginable Love

In his suffering she held him and listened to him,
And in that instant, his heart started mending,
Leading to lasting healing, and loving longing—
And on the evening she kissed him, he wept,
and said, you are always what was missing;
And he held her in his arms from the twilight, until morning,
Whispering loving utterances as the tears streamed from joyous crying,
And on that day, after a beautiful dawning,
She became his everything.

Beautiful Mother

In and out of consciousness, before she left, she reached for her son, who wept with his head turned, and in that moment, she released all the pages of her depths, so that even in death, he could hold onto her; and with all the strength she had left, she lovingly whispered three words to him, while wiping away the tears of his weeping, in her last breaths.

The gauntness of flesh is the cruelty of illness.
Stillness of tormented bodies at 4 AM
is not sleep, but unceasing listlessness.
The wounded heart is known through
many tears and sincere utterances.
Unsightly scars denote the attempted escape
from unbearable agony;
Under dim lighting in a small room with heavy curtains,
a trembling insomniac moves slowly.
In pitch darkness, the sorrowful hold onto
banisters in cold temperatures, wailing uninhibitedly;
The chief torment of the anxious mind is life’s uncertainty.
From birth to death—in-between,
the afflicted struggle for breath.
Even in their mother’s wombs
babies become stressed;
Stillborn babies are kissed,
given names, and mourned.
In late cold December winters,
distressed hearts are torn.
Unsettling letters are received before they grieve
starting with, We regret to inform …
In the pregnancy of the void
some wither away, and some are reborn.
The soul’s balm is the healing of love;
But from its inception it must be pure—
and unadulterated in the properties of its medicine.
A winter baby is delivered from her dying mother’s womb,
and through blood and pain, life begins again.


You cover me, like freshly laundered white linen
over varnished rosewood tables;

You cover me, like an abandoned child
protected under the mighty hands of the archangels;

You cover me, like a black veil over the face of
a grieving widow in agony, with the residue of pain
that was left behind silently on her pillows;

You cover me, like shade from the heat of the sun
under the tears of a weeping willow;

You cover me, like the broad wings of the Harpy Eagle
diligently hovering over her young;

You cover me, like the ozone layer over the earth,
protecting her from the sun;

You cover me, like a newborn
under the doting eyes of his mother’s embrace;

You cover me, every time you wipe away my tears
and gently kiss my face.

Passionate kisses and sincere promises
Lead to transcendent intimacy
On soft champagne colored comforters
In a canopy bed, with white curtains,
And white lights that surround us.
Rose petals fall from one hundred white roses in purple vases.
A goddess bathes in milk and honey,
And sees through brown eyes with natural lashes;
Her tone of voice are a thousand peaceful rivers;
French perfume on shimmering skin amazes;
Black hair flows over violet silk as she gazes.
Subtle sensuality is the wave that moves
Over a strong euphoric undercurrent;
In her stance, she is beheld as a living art piece,
Captured in different moments;
The beauty of her heart causes a wondrous radiance,
Like heaven’s light, illuminating the wings of the angels.
She captivates the eyes of strangers,
Causing hearts to dance, and thoughts to linger